The New Guy
by KenKosgrove
Summary: Mike Falco left the lonely suburbs of Virginia to pursue his dream of advertising in New York. He quickly finds himself brushing elbows with the elite of the business, the best of the best, and is picked up by SCDP. From the Ritz of client parties to the forbidden territory of office romances, Mike wants it all: and he'll do just about anything to get it. Almost anything.
1. Chapter 1

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter One- The Meeting**_

"Did you see the way he dressed? That last one was a loser, I swear I saw him on Howdy-Doody time last week" Roger Sterling said as he brought another sip of scotch to his thin lips. "We need real talent if we're going to impress anyone, or scare people. BBDO needs to be afraid of us!" He waved the glass around in the air dramatically. Bert Cooper had nodded off in the corner seat of the sofa. Don readjusted himself in his chair.

"Joan, how many more people do we have scheduled for today?" He pushed his brows together slowly looking onto his paper sheet where he had been doodling for the previous three hours.

"Just one, Mr. Draper: Michael Falco, from Arlington, Virginia." She replied, staring intently at the interview statements. Don stood from his shallow seat, stretched a little, and meandered towards his intercom.

"Helen, could you send in Mr.…. Falco, please?" He released the button, and reached for a cigarette lying on the desk. Bert rustled in his seat and then began snoring. Roger turned and yelled at the wall, "Hurry, this guy's gonna die of old age…" He was briefly cut off by the crank of the office door swinging open. "Ahhhh, our swan song!" Roger laughed to himself, finishing off the scotch. Don walked over to greet the newest reject.

"Michael, or do I call you Mike?" Don's hand extended and a coy smile crossed his lips.

"Just Mike is fine" he received the hand and shook it.

"Mike, I'm sure you know who Roger Sterling and Bert Cooper are." Don waved a hand towards the men seated on the far couch.

"Of course I do, pleasure to meet you… both?"

Roger laughed deeply and replied, "Don't worry, I don't bite. Father Time here missed his nap today." Mike smiled and extended his hand. Roger met it and looked up, "Can I get you something?" glass in hand, pointing to the drink assortment.

"Scotch straight."

"See Don, I like this kid already!" Roger waltzed over to the small table and poured another round.

Don moved over slightly and gestured. "This is Joan Harris, our head secretary" Joan finally had a moment to glance up. She nodded politely and smiled in his direction.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Falco" She tilted the chair and examine the man before her. His cloudy blue green eyes caught hers and held them. His blond hair; perfectly side-parted, jaw was angular, but prominent, his old suit was well fashioned on him: not too short, not too long. Her heart twinged a bit.

"Please, it's Mike." He smiled unwaveringly and reached for her hand.

"Okay, break it up over here. She's a missus, you know that?" Roger threw himself between the two, handing Mike his drink.

"Just getting friendly."

"Little too friendly…"

Don cut in; "Roger why don't we all just sit down."

"Fine, Fine! Sometimes you gotta stand up for the ladies, you know."

"I'm sure Joan can handle herself." Don said, taking a seat once again.

"So Mike, why advertising?" He lifted up the pen pad, and began doodling.

"It just happened for me. I've always loved drawing; the beautiful art behind a picture, the thought and process of a masterpiece. Then we have people: always willing to do what you tell them. Mindless drones that follow a trend: you put words and art in front of their faces and they see nothing until one person says "See here". "See here" is that one person who starts a revolution. Every advertisement is a revolution waiting to happen. Everybody wants part of that revolution, and also wants no part in being second place during it. I want to be the man who makes everyone feel like they've started a revolution. That is advertising."

"Well said," Bert finally piped up. It was short lived though, and he quickly slumped over snoring.

Don dropped his pen, and cocked a weary eyebrow.

"Where did you work before this?" he enquired.

"A steel foundry" Mike laughed slowly.

"Well thanks Castro, my people need me" Roger raised his glass to Mike, then drank the rest of it. He stared at the bottom of the glass, and laughed to himself.

The door flew open as Peggy barged into the room with Stan at her side.

"Look Don, this isn't working. Kodak's deadline is Tuesday and I don't have enough time to re-write this slogan…" She looked around the room and noticed everyone was staring at her. "Shoot, I'm sorry… I didn't know there was a meeting."

"That's why you knock, Peggy" Joan said acerbically. Don glared angrily at her. She was turning beet red.

"What do you got?" he shot.

"Kodak, we sell you more than just pictures, we sell you memories."

Don leaned back in his chair. "It's missing something: Personality, a connection, just something. Stay late tonight, and tell me what you have tomorrow morning. We'll restart there. I want everyone on the Kodak account in my office by 11:00."

Mike had his head cocked to the side and he slowly spun around to Peggy in his chair.

"You aren't selling memories. People make memories: they can't be sold to someone. They'll feel like it isn't their memory they're making. Think deeper. What is a memory" Mike trailed off. Don smiled and Roger leaned forward on the sofa. "Enlighten us boy." Roger stumbled through the few words. Mike was looking past Don now. He stood, and walked to look outside.

"You're giving people the ability to capture a moment. But not just any moment… A picture moment: A moment so precious to people because it is all too easily forgotten unless it's on film, unless it's tangible. Film gives you the ability to see back in time, to relive moments. Kodak is a tangible moment. Simply put: a Kodak moment."

Peggy stood motionless and quietly replied, "That's perfect..."

Stan leaned over and whispered, "Who the hell is this guy?"

Bert Cooper had finally woken up. "The man is talking real sense. When did we hire him?"

Don stood from his lounge chair, walked over to Mike and shook his hand.

"Right now."


	2. Chapter 2- Meet The Workers

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 2: Meet The Workers**_

It took just under twenty minutes for Mike to arrive at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce the proceeding morning, taking a cab of course. He learned quickly it was redundant to own a car in the city: a waste of money and gas. The yellow striped Ford Fairlane pulled up to the curb and Mike slowly got out, paid the driver, and slammed the door behind him. People were already crowding the sidewalk, going about their daily routine. The difference between the upbeat fashion and speed of life here was quickly overwhelming him. Mike pushed through the crowd and eventually reached the elevator, along with a few other well-dressed executives. The sliding door closed behind them, and they ascended into the heavens.

Mike leaned over and pushed the thirtieth floor button. The man standing beside Mike looked slightly confused, glanced at his watch, then back up to Mike.

"Are you visiting someone?" the man leaned into his ear. He must have been in his late twenties to early thirties, wearing a blue suit and tie. It complimented him well, but his dark combed over and slicked hair did not.

"No, I work there." Mike said, staring ahead. The man looked taken aback.

"Really? When did you start?"

"Yesterday."

"How were you hired?"

"I don't really believe it's any of your business." Mike smiled to himself

"Oh… Oh, I'm sorry, how silly of me. Pete Campbell, I'm one of the partners, That's why I was asking."

"Why isn't your name on the front of the building?"

"Because they haven't had the chance yet to change the name" Pete replied in a slightly annoyed tone. Mike smiled and reached his hand to Pete.

"Michael Falco."

"Pleased to meet you Michael." Pete shook it unenthusiastically. The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open.

"After you Mr. Campbell." Pete walked out the doors without looking back. Mike followed him through the glass doors of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce and past reception. Pete went straight for Draper's office and slammed the door. The secretaries looked up at him slowly and then back down to their desks cluttered with work. No one seemed to notice he was new, that was until a taller man with blondish hair walked out from his office, file folder in hand and almost ran into Mike.

"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry…" the man looked into Mike's eyes "Have we met before?"

"Mike Falco, I was just hired yesterday. Creative portion of things."

"Ken Cosgrove, I manage accounts here" Ken smiled and shook Mike's hand.

"You're probably looking for creative then?" he questioned

"That's where I'm headed at the moment."

Ken smiled, "Well I'll show you the way and you can meet all the charmers here" He laughed slowly

Mike held a slowly smile and waved Ken on. They both began walking down the hallway of clicking typewriters and busy phones buzzing.

"This is my office of course, next is Harry Crane's, he's our television department head. Nice guy too, I'm sure you'll work with him. Next is Peggy Olson's office, I'm sure you've met her." He looked back at Mike, who nodded in response

"Not much of a looker, but that girl has the balls of any man in this building...Probably why Don likes her so much." Ken said this more to himself as Mike cut in quietly,

"Are they... You know,"

"Oh no, at least I highly doubt it. Don respects her too much. She's a little high and mighty if you catch my drift. If she weren't here shed be running a woman's rights activist protest" they both laughed in the hall.

Peggy was sitting in the creative room running over the slogan Mike had come up with.

"Stan, how would you draw a moment? Like what would you put in a Kodak moment."

"Probably some family shit: a guy with his family, home camera: make it look like it wasn't professional." Stan had his legs propped up on the table and was running his eyes through an Archie comic.

"Not bad. Draw it up for tomorrow. We have a meeting in Dons office in an hour, we'll tell him that you're working on that right now. By the way, get Harry to make sure he rented time at the studios so we can film the commercials." Stan stood up, and threw the comic across the table

"On my way."

As he was heading to Crane's office he bumped into Mike and Ken.

"Having a little date in the hall are we boys?" He gave a sly smile

"Oh he's a comedian! No, I'm giving him the grand tour of the casa de Draper" ken shot back

"Ya ya, don't get too comfy. One slip up and Don will slide you back out the door" he pointed.

"I can handle myself thanks" Mike retorted

"Sure" Stan said condescendingly, as he walked into Harry's adjacent office.

"He's got a competitive edge, he'll warm up to you eventually. Anyway, I'm sure you know Joan, this is her office..." At that moment Joan swung the door open and walked into their conversation.

"Ah Mr. Cosgrove" she smiled, "Mr. Pryce wants to see you in his office. Just another management meeting. Mr. Falco how nice to see you" she turned her attention to Mike.

"Likewise Mrs. Harris. I see you have a handle on the men around here" he smiled lightly and she laughed deeply,

"I like to think I keep them in check, and please, call me Joan" she began walking down the hall in opposing direction.

"God love that woman. She's kept this company afloat and quelled more than a few fights. Not to sore on the eyes either" he looked and Mike with a keen smile. "And here we are, the creative department"

Peggy looked up from her paperboard to see Ken and Mike in the hall.

"Hey Kenny. Harbinger of good news I see" she stood from her chair and came to shake hands.

* * *

"Don, I thought I was going to be brought in on company decisions"

"Pete, we hired somebody. I didn't know people needed your permission to take a piss around here" a cigarette was hanging loosely from Draper's lips.

"Look I don't ask for much, but it would be nice to be let in on these things."

"I didn't think it mattered that much to you. The kid's great, came up with a slogan for us on the spot. And it was for your account Pete. Shouldn't you be over at Kodak right now rubbing your elbows."

"I called them up instead. They said they would be here Friday for the presentation."

"Why didn't you just go?" Don was clearly annoyed "It makes a better impression and that's what we need right now"

Campbell was trying to quell the flames, "What's done is done. It just matters that we look good on Friday."

"Fine but next time, just go down there. It wouldn't kill you to leave the office" he exhaled a plume of smoke and butted the cigarette.

Pete retracted from his lean on the chair, and started for the door.

"Alright Don" he said without looking back. Pete closed the door behind him and walked into the creative room, catching everyone laughing.

"I see you're all friends now" Pete said bitterly as he pushed through them and strode down the hall towards his office.

"Someone's on their period" Stan said, poking his head around the corner of the room. Don swung the door of his office open.

"Everybody in here, now" He commanded. "Mike could you get Joan for me? She's probably in the lunch room"

"Sure thing" he said enthusiastically. As the rest of the group filed into the office, Mike made his way down the corridor and found Joan pulling a drag on a cigarette with her back turned, addressing her hoard of colleagues.

"Joan, I hate to pull you away…" he began approaching her. Slowly she spun around and noticed who was speaking: a smile broke through her red lips.

"But duty calls?" she butted the cigarette in an ashtray. He smiled back and gestured towards Drapers office.

"Time to tame the lions" Mike winked. The girls giggled and Joan let out a few quick laughs.

"Tame them I shall" she affirmed. Joan took the lead and her stilettos clacked loudly all the way to the door of her office.

"I just need to grab my things. Come in?" she walked in and leaned over the desk grabbing an assortment of writing utensils.

"Ken tells me you run the place" Mike said boldly as he took a seat in an open chair.

"I try my best. Being a woman in this business isn't always easy. We've had enough executives marrying their secretaries for me to realize what we are prized for."

"And what is that?" he leaned back.

"Well it surely isn't our assertive minds" Joan smiled coyly.

"So I'm getting that office romances aren't your field of view" Mike looked questioningly. Joan curbed her dress and sat down in the opposite chair.

"I never said that, I just know why we are here: instead of a bunch of men crowding the floor, you have us."

"A bad experience then?" he was truly intrigued. Joan looked him directly in the eyes,

"You might say that. When men love someone, they become possessive of their someone. Some men become too possessive and don't want anything more than to have cheap thrills without the tie downs of a real relationship, yet insist on not letting anyone go near their someone. Perhaps it's just me, but that doesn't sound fair."

Mike raised an eyebrow and moved his hand to steady his chin. "Doesn't sound like fair was his game."

"Certainly not. Anyway, I believe we have a meeting to attend." Joan stood up and pushed her chair into the overhang of the small desk. Mike followed suit, made way for the door and grabbed a pen and paper for himself off a stray shelf. As she moved for the door aswell, Joan spun herself into Mike's chest.

"Oh… I'm sorry. Silly me..." She looked up into his eyes and he held hers. They both stood still. Joan could heart her hear beating in her ears. Mike felt his hands go clammy. He reached under her arm and turned the knob of the door, pulling it open.

"We wouldn't want a bad experience now, would we?" A cocky smile crossed his lips. Joan stepped back and into the light on the doorway.

"I have enough of those at the bar with shameless flirts and wreckless men." An even more cocky smiled pursed Joan's lips. She straightened Mike's tie and then sinched it uncomfortably tight.

"See you in the meeting" She walked out. Mike stared at his shoes and laughed to himself.

"Game on, Mrs. Harris."


	3. Chapter 3- A Kodak Moment

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 3- A Kodak Moment**_

It was Friday morning and Donald Draper was quietly smoking a cigarette in his chair when Peggy barged into the conference room with her storyboards and a few easels. She hadn't even noticed he was there until Don spoke up,

"You're here early." Peggy spun around clutching her chest and dropping an easel.

"You scared the life out of me!" she panted.

"Sorry." Don smiled. "I didn't mean to. Anyway why are you here?"

Peggy laid the storyboards on the large table and began setting up the easels in the corner section. "I thought I would get a head start on the presentation. Stan is already here too finishing up the drawings"

"I thought you said he had them done yesterday?" Don cocked an eyebrow.

"Well apparently he was out at the bar with Harry, Ken and Mike until early this morning. Some initiation thing, or however Stan put it."

"But he will have them done." Don seemed angry, and who wouldn't be? Peggy thought to herself.

"Yes, he's almost done. He came here straight after the bar and worked through the night. Could you help me with these?"

Don put out his cigarette, stood from his chair while buttoning his suit, then walked over to Peggy and steadied the easels.

"Why are you here?" Peggy looked up at him. Don looked around before responding,

"I dropped the kids off with Betty last night and I couldn't sleep when I got home. Sally is acting out I guess, so Betty has her going to some therapist." Don grabbed a storyboard and put it on the easel. "She thinks it's something serious." Peggy was at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry Don… I didn't mean to pry."

"Don't worry about it." He stepped back to see if the easel was level.

"Such is life." He took a short pause "When is Kodak here?"

"Pete said 1:00, and I'm assuming they want lunch. I had Joan cater in some food for the meeting." Don smiled at her

"Now you're thinking like an ad-man" he chuckled. Peggy smiled at him and stepped back.

Stan pushed the door open and walked in with the mock-ups.

"Here comes the cavalry" He said. "Oh, hey Don"

"Stan" Don nodded at him. "Put them up over there. It gives us the impression the ideas are broader if we separate the pictures" Stan walked over to the far wall and adjusted them on some preset easels.

"Harry said he'll be here at 10:00 with the media department. And yes, Peggs, he did get the studio time" Stan asserted. A broad smile pierced Peggy's lips,

"Perfect. Are we getting Mike in on this?" she replied.

"Seeing as he came up with the slogan I'm sure having him to bounce ideas off of wouldn't be so bad: Especially if they don't take to our idea." Don sat back into his chair and lit another cigarette.

Stan finished putting up the two pictures and then walked outside. The halls were still dark at 6:00 and normally would be until 8:00 when the morning staff showed up. As he meandered through the narrow walk way between the creative room and Peggy's office, he noticed her door was slightly ajar and a dim light was cascading on the floor. Cautiously walking up to it, he peered inside the room: it was empty. Papers were sprawled across her desk, a few of his drawings, and some letters. There was paper jammed in the typewriter; "Typical Peggy" he scoffed. Walking inside and closing the door, Stan approached the table. There was a key in one of the drawers which immediately spiked his curiosity. Checking the door once more, he pulled open the drawer and picked up the first piece of paper he could see. It was a business card that read "Phillips-Olson Advertising". Stan's face contorted in confusion: there was a bunch of expensive gifts left in the drawer too, a ring, a few boxes, a phone number and last card that read "Herman "Duck" Phillips" and "McCain-Ericksen" underneath. "She's switching sides?" Stan thought to himself. Suddenly footsteps were clacking in the hall. He dropped the cards back in their drawer, slammed it shut and jumped onto the couch.

"Stan! What are you doing?" Peggy seemed more alarmed than stunned that he was in her office. Stan tried to play it off cooly.

"I was just wondering about a few of my drawings and I see they ended up in here." He smiled contently. Peggy seemed to calm down, and then replied,

"Oh, okay. Just ask about them next time."

"Yeah, yeah, don't get in a frizz. Sorry." he walked out of the office and closed the door. Peggy took a deep breath and looked around. He hadn't taken anything: that was a good sign. She walked over to her desk and looked down. "Oh shit the keys" immediately they were in her pocket and a bead of sweat dripped down her brow. "What if he looked…?" She straightened up where she stood and shuddered. "Focus Peggy. Make the moment" and with that thought she left the office.

* * *

It was 11:30 before Michael Falco walked through the glass doors of SCDP once again. The partying had hit him pretty hard from the previous night, but was well worth the time spent with his new co-workers. Apparently "initiation" involved Sarsaparilla mixed with vodka and a lot of extravagant dancing. None the less, he had enough time to: stumble home, lie down, stand up, shower and dress, and cab to work. Wayfarer sunglasses shielded him from the blinding sun, and a terrible hang-over. As he was walking down the corridor he noticed a few secretaries were gathered around Harry Crane.

"What's all this?" Mike piped up. Harry laughed and leaned over.

"Pictures from last night"

"Oh lord, No!" the girls giggled and Mike reached in to grab the photo. "How did you even develop these so quickly?"

"There's a dark room on the far side of the office" Harry winked at him and Mike brought one of the images into view. It wasn't too bad, just the four boys raising their glasses. Of course as the pictures went on, well, so did the evening. Soon they were in their underwear, and it just degraded from there.

"Burn these. No evidence" Mike laughed deeply as did the surrounding group. He slipped the one good photo into his pocket. Ken Cosgrove walked up behind Mike and put his hand over his shoulder.

"Initiation complete" He and Harry high-fived and then dissipated from the secretaries. Joan marched confidently through the main doors at that moment. Her red dress clung tightly to her and a red bow creased her midsection.

"Okay ladies, fun's over." One of the secretaries said in a chilled voice. Mike sat up from the desk.

"Flirting with the girls are we?" Joan smiled brazenly.

"These lovely ladies have better things to do than flirt with me. Thank you for the pictures." Mike took stand beside Joan in the hall space. "Apparently a night out with the boys is better relived on film." She laughed and then began walking down the hall, Mike followed.

"Don't forget, one o'clock. Don wants you in there on your best. Impress them. Make them want to know you, to talk to you. You've been here for years. Don always takes the lead but if he needs help, he'll call you up. Although, more likely, Roger will call upon Don." Mike smiled. Their brief stroll ended at Joan's door and she stopped in front of it. "And least of all don't be nervous. Charm them and they'll love you." He looked enthusiastically into her eyes and replied,

"You sure know your stuff." She walked a few steps into her office. "You look great today." The words splurged from his mouth.

"I know" she laughed coyly and closed the door. Mike clenched his jaw. I'm an idiot. He said to himself. And with those encouraging words, he went for coffee.

* * *

_**Conference Room, 1:20 p.m.**_

"Look, Mr. Draper, these two may be convinced of this idea, but I just don't know. A moment? Why not a memory. I liked the older slogan you had, the "we sell memories" one. Why can't we use that?"

"Gentleman everyone is trying to sell cameras. To market a vast majority of people who are now looking for a cheap camera: that is your objective correct?" Don reported. The three men from Kodak looked at each other and nodded. "You see Kodak has a reputation. Something we can build on. It's been part of our families for generations. Last year, you released the carousel. Your sales flew off the charts, but why? Because people bought into the idea of Kodak being a part of their heritage. They want Kodak to remind them of good times; of their family. This time, we are looking at a totally different item, film and cameras. What do film and cameras create? They create attachment, they create memories. Kodak creates memories. At first yes, we thought, "Well that's perfect, Kodak: We sell you more than just pictures, we sell you memories." But that just didn't sit right with me. It lacks character. As an associate Michael here pointed out, you aren't selling memories. You can't sell a memory because then it was created by you, and not by the consumer. It lacks that heritage and family feel. It creates impersonality with the product, and I doubt you want to do that."

"I think its genius John, I can't see why you don't like it." the first Kodak man said.

"I dunno, I was just really sold on the memories thing. I just don't want this to be under shadowed by what Polaroid has on the market. Those instant cameras are pretty nifty"

"No they're not" Don protested. They seemed shocked into quiet. "They may be quick, but they're low quality, fade in time, and the film is outrageously priced. Kodak's film is cheap, and high resolution. And it never fades. Moments: those never fade. That's what we're selling." Mike could see that the one owner still wasn't sold on the idea. His expression was blank. Mike stood up from his chair. Don looked frightened but said nothing. Slowly he pulled the picture from his pocket and threw it in front of an unconvinced John.

"Four friends meeting up at the bar to celebrate. A new bond in friendships created. I haven't been so welcomed anywhere in my life than here in this company. This picture means the world to me, because it was an important moment in my life. Perhaps one day the memory will fade. I'll forget about that night with my friends. Because of this picture though, I have that moment catalogued. It's with me wherever I go, and whatever I do. I'll always have my Kodak moment." Mike smiled at the man. Don was leaning on the table waiting for a response. Pete looked horrified.

"Actually…. I see where you're coming from… Perhaps you are right. Let's go ahead with the new slogan. A Kodak memory."

"That's excellent" Don smiled over-excitedly

"We're so glad you like it" Pete interjected as he began shaking their hands.

It wasn't long before news of the sale breached through the thin walls of the conference room and spread across the floor. The men from Kodak signed a contract made up for them and shook hands with each of the workers on the account. As they exited the room Don put his hand across Mike's chest halting him.

"Wait here."

Everyone eventually vacated the room.

"You talked out of turn" Don looked unimpressed but his expression slowly transformed. "But you did really good kid. That took some guts. Nice picture by the way. You're getting the hang of this" Don slid his fedora on his head and picked up his briefcase. "See you tomorrow" he then walked out of the office.

Mike couldn't help but smile to himself as he looked at the photograph. Ken burst through the doors at that moment.

"Heard the good news! We're going to that dancing club on 5th and Broadway that just opened up, The Blue Lagoon, or whatever it's called. Tonight at 9:00, you wanna come?"

Mike replied quickly "I'm there"

"Good and there's no reason you shouldn't be. All the secretaries are going. You better dress up!" Ken walked backwards out of the door and winked before turning around. Mike ran out behind him and followed the group down the hall. As he passed Joan's office he opened the door.

"You coming dancing tonight?"

"I was thinking I would."

"Yeah you are." They both smiled at each other. Roger barged through the other door.

"Joannie are you done with the… Oh. I see you have company" Roger stood up straighter and seemed unamused.

"Just on my way out Mr. Sterling." He waved once to Joan and closed the door. Looking out through the nearby window Michael said

"And now, we dance"


	4. Chapter 4- The Blue Lagoon

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 4: The Blue Lagoon**_

When Stan said this place was swanky, he meant it. Everything was brand new and sparkled in the lights of the hanging crystal chandeliers. The floors gleamed with wax and the bar looked a mile long, under-lit with blue neon lights. Mike's cab pulled up to the front door's where a valet opened the car door and waved him on. The cover charge was an insane 20 dollars but once inside, he knew why.

It looked like everyone from the office was at the gathering: Stan and Peggy were sitting at the bar talking, Ken was dancing with a girl on the floor, copied by Harry who clearly had no coordination whatsoever. Some of the secretaries were crowded at the bar and the others, who were prettier, had been asked to dance and were gallivanting about. Mike stood still by the entryway for a moment; his eyes quickly scanning the room. He saw Roger and Don sitting at the far end of the bar. Don looked, saw him, and waved him over.

Mike crossed the dance floor, avoided the flock of dancers, and approached Don and Roger.

"There he is, the man of the hour!" Roger was clearly already drunk at this point. "I hear you grabbed us the account today."

"Well Don really had the grip on that…"

Roger cut him off. "Oh don't be so bashful boy, you earned this. 3 days after we hire you, you land an account? I don't even think Don could do that." Don laughed half-heartedly and turned to the barman. "Hey could we get three cherry hookers over here?"

"Well thank you none the less."

Roger smiled drunkenly. "Enjoy the drink." The barman came over and put the drinks down."

"I thought you said you weren't coming?" Mike motioned to Don

"I wasn't, until this old bear made me his ride home." Don smiled at Roger who was clearly deep in thought staring at the wall.

"Wouldn't want to crash that nice car." Mike took a sip of his drink.

"Certainly not." Don concluded. Just then Peggy walked over

"You really stitched up that deal today Mike. Nice job." She smiled and he returned the favour.

"Thanks Peggy. I'm starting to see how this place works." He paused a moment then looked over to Stan, who was now drinking alone at the bar. "Go ask Stan to dance." Mike said broadly.

"Huh?" Peggy seemed taken aback.

"Go ask him to dance! He's probably been waiting for it. Go ask him!" Peggy started blushing.

"Oh I don't know, he's a work colleague, I can't get into anything inti…."

"Just ask him, to dance" Mike repeated gesturing to him. Peggy thought a moment, flipped around and began walking towards Stan. Mike looked over and after a moment of them talking Stan stood, smiled, and walked Peggy to the dance floor.

"And a matchmaker to boot, where'd you say you were from?" Roger leaned over and almost fell back off his chair. Just then, Ken ran over.

"Mikey! There you are, thought that you'd ditched or something."

"Couldn't miss the party of the year." He chuckled.

"Walk with me." Ken asserted. Mike waved to Don and Roger and followed him away. Eventually they walked up to a beautiful young girl, maybe in her early to mid-twenties. She was wearing a pretty green dress with paisleys all over it.

"Michael, this is my fiancée, Cynthia. Cynthia, this is Michael Falco, a new associate at the firm."

"Pleasure to meet you." She said excitedly. Mike took her and shook it

"Likewise." He looked over to Ken and back to Cynthia. "You hold on to him. He's something else, that's for sure" They all laughed.

"Did you see Harry and his wife? The guy needs to go to a dancing class or something." Ken spun around just in time to see Harry drop his wife onto the floor, and pick her up again.

"Oh lord" he laughed. Suddenly Mike felt a hand touch his lower back and wrap around.

"Hope I didn't miss anything." A high voice said from beside him.

"No Joan, I think you walked in just in time to see Harry kill his wife while dancing" Ken pointed to the dance floor. Joan began laughing as she watched Harry do twirls.

"I hope he realizes that she is supposed to twirl."

"Oh he has no idea." Mike smiled. "Can I buy you a drink?" he motioned to the bar.

"I'd like one, thank you." Mike lead the way and they both took seats on two open stools.

"I hear from numerous sources you took a stand in the meeting." She waved the tender over and ordered. "Just a brandy."

"I'll have scotch on the rocks. You could say that. He just needed a nudge in the right direction. Don had it completely under control though."

"Your modesty surprises me. Most men in this business aren't afraid to yell to the heavens how great they are."

"I guess I'm a rare breed then." The drinks arrived and Mike took a sip. "What drew you here? You don't seem like the partying type. And where would Mr. Harris be this fine evening?" Mike cocked an eyebrow with the glass to his lips.

"I felt like I needed to get out." She took a small sip. "Honestly I don't know. He's in Vietnam somewhere but he isn't allowed to say. He signed up for the army because he thought it was an easy out and I wouldn't have to work. I guess the game fell against his favour." Mike sat in silence, took a large swig, then said calmly,

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I shouldn't have asked." He looked into the bar mirror distantly.

"It's alright. Life comes at you fast and hits hard." Mike quickly looked back at Joan,

"What's Rogers deal? Sometimes he's open armed; other times when I'm around you he's bitter and angry." Joan put the glass down on the bar and replied

"Roger and I were together years ago. He still feels like he owns me and that no one else can flirt with me nor talk with me."

"Do you love him?" Mike looked inquisitively at her.

"I care for him deeply but I've moved on. Roger has his new wife now and I don't want a hand in that. He's made his bed and so have I"

"To new beds." They both smiled and clinked glasses.

* * *

"Look at them. God Don I'm so old. I've lost the charm." Roger moped.

"Your wife is beautiful, you're rich, you have nothing to cry about."

"But he's flirting with my Red. He has my girl!" Roger nearly yelled this.

"You forfeited those rights long ago. Quick clinging to the sinking ship and let go." Don lifted his glass and finished it off.

"I can't, I still love her..."

"Get over yourself Roger. You've already divorced once and lost half of everything you own. You're never satisfied. Joan's married now anyway."

"Marriage never stopped me before" Roger winked drunkenly.

"We need to get you home." Don stood from his chair and paid their bill.

"Agh, you're such a killjoy." Roger stood up, stumbled around before he steadied himself. "Lead on Macbeth!"

"It's MacDuff." Don sighed, grabbed Roger by the shoulder, and began walking him across the floor to the exit. Before they got there Roger managed to get Mike's attention.

"You're playing with fire kid! You'll get burned!" He laughed loudly and stumbled out the door.

"I like fire" Mike laughed and Joan simply smiled. Suddenly the band switched from upbeat rock and roll to a slower song. Patsy Cline's Crazy came blaring through the speaker and a woman dressed in purple stood on stage.

"This one's for the couples." She began singing as Kenny and Harry grabbed their wives and took them to the dance floor. Mike's gut wrenched into a knot and the next words he said came out slow and jumbled.

"Would you care to... To uh... You know..."

"I'd like that" Mike stood with Joan and he escorted her to the crowded dance floor. He put his one hand on her hip and grasped her other hand in his. They swung slowly in the dimly lit ballroom to Crazy. Mike looked into Joan's deep blue eyes and watched her pupils dilate as she looked into his. Suddenly he realized how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her.

Joan's brain was pained with so many thoughts. Should I have danced with him? He is extremely handsome, but I just don't know. She looked further into his eyes and saw the good in him. Slowly she moved closer to him and wrapped her arm around his back and nestled her head into his shoulder. His coat was so soft and she could nearly hear his heartbeat through the coat. She smiled to herself.

The song jumped up a key and Mike knew it was coming to end soon. He began slowing dancing and eventually as the woman onstage belted out the last sentence he brought his hand to her silky face. Joan looked up and into his eyes. Mike leaned in slowly and began kissing her, at first gently then more passionately as the piano played them out.

As she stood there kissing him, Joan felt an odd ease. One she hadn't felt in a long time. She thought her stomach would tense up and become scared but it relaxed her and pleased her. The blood ran to her cheeks and they turned to rose. Mike opened his eyes just as Joan opened hers. He looked longingly into her eyes and clutched her hand for a moment before speaking.

"Shall we have one more drink?" Joan nodded smiling.

* * *

Oh Donna by Ritchie Valens began playing and Ken was still swinging with Cynthia. He was rocking her back and forth and realizing how much he loved her. Their first date flew by in his head, their first kiss, all the romantic outings they had. He pulled her away slowly and kissed her gently saying "I love you." Harry was trying to do the same thing but just much more awkwardly and drawn out.

20 feet away, Stan and Peggy were slow dancing.

"I was never one for this cheesy stuff. Slow dancing, I mean c'mon, how old are we?" Stan laughed looking around.

"Yeah I know right, it's not my thing either." The both of them wouldn't look into each other's eyes. "Well it's kind of okay with you." She turned to him finally. Stan turned to her,

"Yeah… You make this bearable. It's borderline alright."

"If they would just play a faster song..." Peggy was cut off by Stan's lips pressing upon hers. At first she resisted in horror but slowly as they kissed she let go. He was really quite good at it actually, compared to her last fling. Peggy and Stan kissed until the song finally ended.

* * *

The yellow striped Chevy Bel-Air pulled up out front of Joan's apartment building and she stepped out. Michael had found some quick excuse to admit they were heading the same direction, when in fact it was the complete opposite. Mike stepped out behind her and shut the door.

"And where are you going mister?" Joan played into it.

"I was hoping I could use the bathroom and then I could be on my way?" Joan laughed

"Yes I think that's quite alright." She led the way through the doors and up to her floor. Unlocking the door, Joan dropped her bag and removed her gloves. As soon as she had walked further in Mike put his arms around her and began kissing her again, quite passionately this time. Joan put her back into it and closed her eyes. He was forceful yet gentle at the same time.

Soon Joan was undoing the buttons on his shirt and he slowly undid the zipper on her dress and it slipped of her shoulders gently. She pulled herself closer and their skin touched softly. Mike wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly in. Slowly by the belt, Joan pulled him towards the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5- We All Wake Up Someday

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 5: We All Wake Up One Day**_

It was early morning when Michael Falco awoke. The sun was just cusping over the horizon and a tint of light was breaching through the windows of the apartment. For a moment he forgot where he was and in worry, sat up quickly. Then the memories of the previous night flooded his mind. Joan was sleeping on her chest with her face towards him. She looked like a brazen angel the way she was laying. He smiled and slowly stood from bed to grab his briefs. Tip-toeing cautious around the room he shut the blinds and walked into the adjacent bathroom.

The shower ran hot in her apartment, unlike his. Must be the neighborhood; he thought. The heat of the water soothed him and calmed his worried thoughts. Maybe this was only a one night thing for her… or what if I was bad? It occurred to him, quite instantly, that he was falling for this woman. Even worse was the fact that it was forbidden, and she was still married.

Mike dried himself off with a towel quickly and put his underwear on. He walked out of the bathroom to the surprise of seeing Joan still asleep despite the noise. He crept through the bedroom door and into the main room which was attached to an obscure kitchen. He slid some bread into the toaster and found a pan in the cupboard. "Eggs and toast it is."

It wasn't long before he heard a knock on the wall beside him. An angel's face swung around the corner and Joan smiled at him.

"I thought I smelt something good." She walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder. Mike flipped the eggs, grabbed the toast from the toaster and threw it on two plates.

Joan was wearing only a light pink bathrobe and it was loosely staying on. She folded the bottom as she sat down at the small kitchen table.

"How did you sleep?" Mike jarred.

"Not very well thanks to you." He turned to look and her, laughed and then looked back at the eggs; flipping them once more. "You certainly lasted longer than I'd presumed."

"Oh, I see how it is." Mike's inner voice yelled hurrah at that point and his outer voice continued.

"Well you certainly were something to keep up with." She smiled to herself. Mike flipped the eggs onto the plates and brought them to the table, along with glasses of orange juice.

"What don't you know how to do?" Joan chuckled and drank the orange juice.

'There are many things unfortunately: Like being romantic at a dance club or cooking anything other than eggs and toast." She laughed whole-heartily and raised her glass. "To The Blue Lagoon and your mother for undoubtedly teaching you how to cook"

* * *

In another apartment in another part of the city Peggy Olson was lying in her bed staring at the ceiling. The previous night began quite complacently and the further the drinks went the cloudier it became. She had many memories of dancing and then an odd one of her kissing Stan. She threw her pillow over her face and sighed. Suddenly an arm brush hers and she freaked out nearly falling out of bed. Stan looked over slowly

"What's the matter with you?" His eyes were barely open.

"Why are you here! In my bed?"

"I swear women can't hold their liquor." He turned his face and slumped over.

"Did we? Well you know."

"No we both just slept naked in the same bed after a night of heavy drinking and loose decisions."

Peggy slapped his open back.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?" Stan turned over and looked at Peggy, much more alert this time.

"For taking advantage of me." She raised her nose as if to indicate it was his fault.

"You took advantage of me! I said let's get cleaned up, you said let's sleep together"

"No I didn't!" she objected

"No but it was something along those lines." He laughed to himself loudly.

"We shouldn't have done this. Now our whole dynamic is going to be messed up. Work is going to be awkward, ugh, this is no good." She pounded the sheets beside her.

"If you're that chapped about it, no one will ever find out. The dynamic won't change, we'll go to work on Monday, same as always: Late and most likely hung-over."

"Fine." Peggy looked distantly out the window as she wrapped the sheets around her. Thoughts still plagued her mind and worries clouded her. Now Stan had the upper-hand. He'd seen her at her most vulnerable, and could use that against her, or tell the guys if they ever got in a serious snuff.

"I have a question for you." Stan looked up to her.

"Which is." Peggy still wasn't looking at him

"Who is Duck Phillips?"

Peggy's heart jump started and her face flushed. "How do you know about Duck"

Stan's brain began working quickly and he shot out a lie. "When I was in your office you got a phone call. I picked it up and the man introduced himself as Duck. I thought it was a joke so I just hung up."

"You shouldn't take my calls." She looked miffed. "Duck was a friend at the old company to which I had intimate relations with. That's all you need to know.'

"Alright. Just wondering." Stan stood up and put his pants on. "The least I could do is take you out for breakfast." Peggy smiled and replied,

"The least."

* * *

Donald Draper had woken early that Saturday morning. He reached over slowly to kiss his wife's head but when he leaned over there was no one to be found. In fact no one had been sleeping there in months. He let his hand rest on the cold open space in the bed. After moments of empty thought, pulling himself from bed, he got dressed with no order or precision. "Another day in the kingdom of rust." He thought to himself.

His Cadillac started with a deep roar and the car rumbled to life. Today was the day he was to pick up Sally, Bobby and baby Gene. The car was so smooth Don barely noticed it existed. That was one thing he truly appreciated: Driving down the freeway with the windows rolled down and no radio on; just the wisps of air and thought to bind him. The car rolled up in front of the house and he turned the keys to shut it off. Sally immediately swung the door open and ran towards Don.

"Daddy!" she shouted. Don smiled weakly and picked up his daughter.

"How have you been?" he said.

"I'm alright. School is pretty hard you know!"

"I do know! I had to do it once too." He smiled widened just as his oldest son came running up to him for a hug.

"Daddy, I missed you." Bobby seemed much more withdrawn than Sally.

"I've missed you too bud." Bobby had wrapped himself around Don's leg. He put Sally down and muttered,

"Now to get baby Gene."

Betty was standing in the doorway watching as the kids were falling under her ex-husbands spell. He marched up the walk with astute confidence.

Henry Francis, Betty's husband walked up behind her and began rubbing her shoulders,

"So what are we going to do this weekend?" He muttered quietly.

"Not now Henry." She cusped her lips. "Once the kids are gone." He back away confused. Don walked onto the porch addressing both parties.

"Betty, Henry." He nodded.

"I just put baby Gene in the stroller for you, he's ready to go." She pushed the stroller and smiled down at her young son.

"You be good for daddy, okay?" she said in a childish voice.

Don picked up Bobby smiled at him then looked at Betty.

"I'm taking them to Atlantic Playland in Jersey for the rest of the weekend." Immediately Sally and Bobby began screaming and clapping. Betty smiled but was not totally reassured.

"That's very nice of you Don."

"Well I bought the tickets through a friend at work and thought, why not?" Betty's smile disappeared.

"You're not going to have one of your secretaries look after them, are you?" she said condescendingly. Don looked unphased into her blue eyes and said,

"No, it will just be the four of us." Don grabbed the stroller and began pushing it down the concrete path towards the Cadillac. "Bye Betts."

"Goodbye mommy!" Bobby yelled turning over his father's shoulder.

"Goodbye Bobby, Bye Sally." She waved to the children as they boarded into the car. Sally was smiling but only waved.

The V8 roared to life and as Donald Draper drove away with his children, Betty Francis felt a pang of mild regret in her heart; for just a moment she missed him.


	6. Chapter 6- Memory Lane

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 6: Memory Lane**_

Monday, June 7th 1965, came all too quickly for the staff of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. The weekend had drawn to a close and people were dragging themselves into work, filing through the giant glass doors once again. One man though, was more than happy to be back.

Lane Pryce had finally arrived back in New York City. The stench of fuel and garbage wafted into his nose and he knew he was home. The Ford Fairlane taxicab picked him up in front of the airport and began driving him towards SCDP. New York and London were so drastically different for Lane; one was his past and the other, his fast paced upbeat future. The cab finally rolled up out front and he wasted no time in getting upstairs. The great glass doors were like a welcoming hug from an old friend and he smiled exceedingly while walking through them.

The secretaries greeted him with shy smiles and a few welcome backs. Joan Harris quickly walked up beside him,

"Joan! Aren't you a site for sore eyes." He smiled in his own way.

"Welcome back Mr. Pryce." She smiled.

"It's good to be back." He was in a good mood and it rubbed off well on Joan.

"Excellent, well there is a partners meeting at 3:00 in the conference room, and you have dinner at 4:30 with George Landor from A&W. After that the evening is yours." She handed him a file folder filled with the details of what occurred while he was away. He opened it slowly and observed their new account.

"When did we land Kodak's camera account?" Lane looked up through his round spectacles.

"On Friday. They came for a meeting Mr. Campbell had arranged. Our new creative copywriter shoe'd it in for us." She held an especially broad smile at this point.

"Well that's splendid news." His manicured English accent had a sweetened tone to it. "Who is this man?"

"Michael Falco, he used to work for Bethlehem Steel in Arlington, Virginia. He's quite cunning with his tongue, I must say."

"From personal experience, I assume?" She turned bright red in realizing what she had said, and replied slowly,

"He knows how to convince you of things Mr. Pryce. I'm sure you'll like him." She walked confidently away towards her office.

Lane Pryce watched her walk the first few steps then began walking towards his own office smiling to himself. "It's good to be back." He shut the door quietly.

* * *

At that moment, Roger Sterling was sitting in the nearby break room slowly sipping bourbon, reading the news and contemplating what he had just heard. The stocks were relatively stable, and he hadn't lost any money. Closing the paper he finished off the last of the glass and stood from his seat. The hallway was crowded with associates and he slowly walked like a condemned man towards his office.

Standing in silence he poured more alcohol into the glass and looked longingly at it. He placed a record on the small player behind his desk and Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven came blaring through the speaker. He turned it down and then sat. He felt sadness but also anger in his heart. Roger paged through the intercom to his secretary,

"Could you get my wife on the line please." He let go of the button.

"Of course Mr. Sterling." Within a moment the telephone in his office was ringing. He picked it up.

"Hello Janey dear."

"Roger! I wasn't expecting you to call." She sounded happy and enthusiastic.

"I know I just felt lonely and decided I would call you up." The music played softly in the background.

"How sweet of you dear, would you like me to make you supper for when you come home this evening?"

"I was thinking I would stay out on the town later tonight actually."

"Oh… alright Roger." She sounded disappointed.

"Ah-ah, but what do you say tomorrow I take you out to see that symphony."

"I'd really like that." Jane sounded happier but still disappointed.

"Excellent, I'll be home late then, perhaps in the early morning. I love you dear!" he smiled

"I love you too Roger." The receiver died. He hung up the phone and leaned into the intercom.

"Rita could you buy tickets to the Symphony in Carnegie Hall for tomorrow night." There was a moment's hesitation.

"Yes but it's most likely sold out."

"Make it happen." He let go of the button then pressed it again. "And get Joan in here for me, will you?"

"I'll have Mrs. Harris in as soon as possible." The line went silent. Roger leaned back and closed his eyes, listening more to the music again. He nearly fell asleep when a sudden tap on the door awakened him.

"Come in." he yelled. The door slowly opened and Joan walked in looking first at her shoes, then to Roger.

"You called?"

"I remember when you used to come into my office just to talk." He muttered into his glass.

"What is it Roger." She ignored the comment.

"I dunno, just wanted to talk. What's new?"

"Nothing really." She hesitated then walked to the far couch and sat down with straight posture. "Look, there is lots of work to be done. Especially since we lost Lucky Strike."

"Thanks for reminding me Joannie." He took a deep gulp of bourbon.

"I have a meeting for you and Bruce Reed, the owner of Bruster's Ice Cream for Wednesday at noon. We could really use this account." She looked down to her clipboard then back up to Roger.

"What happened to us Joannie?" he swiveled the chair towards her.

"We grew up Roger. We can't be kids forever. At least not me." She stood from her spot and grabbed the glass from him.

"Hey I was drinking that!" she walked over to the garbage and dumped in.

"No more drinking yourself into a stupor at work." She looked seriously at him.

"I can do what I want. This is my company."

"There won't be a company if we maintain this pace. Have you talked to Lane about the numbers? It isn't pretty."

"We'll bounce back, we always do."

"God's grace extends so far."

"That's what lady luck is for." He winked.

"She's moved tables." Joan leaned against the wall.

"What's made you so bitter, lighten up!"

"I want to have a job, Roger."

"It never rains in East New York,"

"It pours." Joan finished his sentence.

"Well if it pours, then we'll need shelter." Joan heard this and cocked a questioning brow.

"I took the night off. What do you say we go see a movie, or go back to your place?"

"We're not doing that anymore Roger. I'm the Director of Agency Operations now. Though it may be just a title.." she leaned off the wall and walked towards his desk. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"C'mon Red, just you and me like the old days. We could go to the bar; to Hilton's for the night. Some swanky club or restaurant; your choice."

"I choose my own bed, alone, Roger. And you should be in yours with Jane."

"What is this I hear of you and that new kid?" Roger quickly changed the subject.

"What do you mean?" she looked interested.

"Now I have your attention. I heard ramblings about you two."

"From whom?" she looked angry.

"So it's true." Joan leaned off the wall and replied,

"I never said that." Roger pointed through the wall to the lunch room.

"Your girls."

"I kissed him on the dance floor." She looked from the roof, then into Roger's burning eyes.

"I'll ruin him." she was taken aback by Roger's aggression.

"Quit being a child!"

"You can consider him fired."

"You're drunk and completely overreacting. I can't even believe you right now."

"Fine but I'll make his life hell."

"Oh really? Will you now. This is the Roger Sterling I once loved. Goodbye Roger."

"Joannie. Joan, come on." Joan was walking out of the office. "Joan. Don't you walk out on me. Joan!" he shouted angrily. She slammed the door behind her. Roger sat in silence: the record was skipping over the end. He cracked his fists so hard onto the table a bottle fell of the edge and smashed to pieces on the carpet. He covered his mouth in pain and leaned back in the reclining leather chair. He sat there in thought for a good moment until he had an idea. Roger reached for the phone, He picked it up slowly, brought it to his ear, and began dialing. The phone rang a few times and was picked up on the other end.

"This is Roger Sterling calling for Captain Joe Stanford. Is he still in?... Oh excellent." The line went silent for a moment before a man picked up. "Joe? Hey Joe how are you!... That's great, how are the kids doing?... Are they? Well it sure has been a while. I can't believe this line is still yours! Can't believe it's been 12 years. Feels like yesterday we were together on Okinawa…. Yes, yes the Agency is still up and running… yes, well don't believe everything you read in the papers… Anyway, I have a favour to ask of you pal…. Oh nothing too serious. Do you have a Private Greg Harris who just recently signed up? Within the last year... Yes ill wait…" again the line went silent. "Do you now! Well I have an interested party who wants him home, could you arrange for him to come back?... Non-permanently hey… that's alright…. Yes, I'm good friends with his wife and she is just so distressed without him…. It's so tough to see that you know? Just reminds me of our wives back in the war… You can? That's excellent… …

* * *

Michael Falco had arrived early that day for work. Mostly due to a hard time sleeping the previous evening, football was on but it was only replays from earlier games and there was not much to do but get ready for the week ahead. He had bought a nice suit with some side cash saved from his mother and had it pressed and dry-cleaned for work. He received a few compliments from the day staff but everyone seemed so busy to notice anything.

A man in his middle to late forties with short brownish hair, round glasses and a well-tailored suit approached him in the creative room at noon.

"You must be Michael." He had a strong British accent, Mike noticed quickly.

"Mr. Lane Pryce, I presume." He stood from the chair and shook Lane's outstretched hand.

"You presume right, Mr. Falco." Mike released his grip on Lane's hand. "I hear many good things about the Kodak account."

"Well I don't like to toot my own horn, but thank you. I would say I worked hard on the project but it seemed to flow naturally. Something that too rarely occurs in this business."

"Rightly so, young man." Lane sized him up while smiling. "Anyway I have meeting,but I look forward to working with you." He smiled once again.

"As do I Mr. Pryce." The older man turned away and began walking.

"I think he likes you Mike." Peggy said while writing ideas on sheets of paper.

"I hope he does… He's the big boss."

"You'll soon find out that everyone here needs each other. Don couldn't live without us, same with the rest. Once that hierarchy breaks down for you, it gets easier. Lane is no different. What are numbers when there isn't anyone to bring them in." Mike looked at Peggy and raised a brow in agreement.

"I never thought of it that way." As he was finishing the sentence, Don leaned out of his office. "Mike, just need you for a second." He leaned back in. Mike stood from his chair once again and walked over into Draper's corner office. He shut the door behind him.

"Take a seat." Michael got nervous and sat down. "Wednesday I'm having Bruce Reed come in, He owns Bruster's, the ice cream parlour?"

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with the place." He smiled.

"Well I want you in on the ground floor for this one. You're up to bat. Kodak was great, you really nailed it home with them. Now I want to see it again, this time in a whole new ball park. I'm going to California for the rest of the week, and I'm having Roger take the lead on this one. You, Peggy and Stan are right under him. Anything you want to say, you say to him. Joan has all the details if you need to know anything. Anyway, best of luck. If there is a true emergency, again Joan has my hotel's number." Don stood up and grabbed his fedora.

"I don't think Roger likes me much."

"Well you're an ad man. Make him like you, it's your job now. He's a bit rough on the outside but once you get to know him he's alright."

"Understood." Mike stood as Don began leaving the office, and he followed him out, closing the door.


	7. Chapter 7- Hillbilly Hell

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only. Also, this is not an accurate portrayal of neither Bruce Reed, nor Nelson Rockefeller, this is my rendition of their characters.)

_**Chapter 7: Hillbilly Hell**_

Roger Sterling awoke in his king sized bed with his young wife lying beside him. He sat up with a headache and a sore throat but reeled himself out of bed none the less. Sunlight was streaming through the 12 foot windows of their master bedroom and Tuesday was already underway. Jane sprawled out after he had adjourned from sleep.

"Come back to bed." She mumbled.

"I have to go to work dear." He piped up. Roger sulked towards his walk-in closet and began getting dressed. Jane sat up in bed rubbing her eyes.

"Why so early today?" She walked over and leaned into the closet.

"Don set me up as leader of a new account." Roger was feverishly looking for his socks.

"Bottom drawer love. Well that's exciting!" She smiled. Roger seemed less than amused.

"I guess but I have to play with the new blood at the office." He was pulling up his tie at this point. "And some I don't like."

"I'm sure they're fine Roger, you're very prickly around the edges sometimes."

"How could you say such a thing" He smiled and kissed his wife on the forehead, left the bedroom, then headed for the garage.

"Goodbye dear!" she yelled.

"Goodbye Janey." he replied

* * *

Around the same time as Roger had woken up, 20 miles away and 15 stories up, Michael Falco was putting on his suit and parting his hair. The night held more rest for him, and so he had everything ready early. After Don had left the previous day, the rest of the evening was spent at the city archives, learning about Bruster's and it's owner Bruce Reed. If Don wanted him to be educated, he would educate himself. After grabbing his new briefcase, and filling it with Xerox copies of information, he made his way out of his building and down the busy street, trying to find a cab.

At exactly 9:57, both Roger and Michael walked up to the front of the building and through the base doors.

"New Guy!" Roger said enthusiastically. "You ready for this?"

"I think so Mr. Sterling, I read up about Bruster's during my free time last night" Mike replied.

"Excellent! Your dedication will, I'm sure, pay off." He winked at Mike as the elevator doors slowly slid closed.

"Do you know about them?"

"Does buying a cone from them count?" He looked at Mike and laughed. Mike smiled back.

After a minute, the doors of the elevator receded and the executives piled out. Soon they filled the door way to SCDP.

Once Roger and Mike had passed reception, Peggy walked up to them.

"Bruce Reed will be here in two hours so I'm setting up everything in there. Do you have anything?"

"I have a bunch of sheets on the company in my folder." Mike commented. Roger was looking around.

"Perfect, could I borrow those to read?" She smiled.

"Of course." Mike handed over the briefcase. Peggy began walking for the conference room to which Joan was just exiting.

"Joannie!" Roger shouted. Joan turned on her toes to see who was addressing her. She smiled queerily and made her way towards them.

"Boys, how are we today." Joan asked.

"Just great!" Roger stretched.

"I'm alright thanks Joan." Mike smiled, to which she returned the same.

"The kid and I are gonna go for a grand slam, aren't we?" Roger rested his arm on Mikes shoulder.

"Hopefully" Mike shied back a bit.

"Don't be so bashful. Gotta keep that confidence up." He let off the shoulder and began walking for the lunch room where a few secretaries were congregated.

"Well he's being awfully nice today." Mike said intruiged.

"Just watch him." Joan warned. "He's always up to something. Walk with me?"

"Sure." He smiled at her and they both began walking.

"When you're in there today, just watch out. Roger has a very competitive edge, and will probably try to be the most present in conversation. Just let him do his thing, and you'll be alright."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Mike felt scared for a moment.

"He's just very competitive, and when he doesn't get his way, he lashes out."

"I understand… it's not like I haven't been through school before." He laughed a bit as they walked into Joan's office.

"I just want them to play nice you know." She smiled. They stood there for a moment as the door swung closed. Mike casually walked up to Joan until he was nearly touching her. She looked up into his bright eyes and that's when she knew he was falling for her. Something inside Joan ticked in a certain way it hadn't in a while. "I can make someone like me!" a little voice inside said to her. I am beautiful. She forgot for a moment about the restraints of her life, and the control she absolutely had to have over it. Mike rubbed her cheek with his hand and slowly leaned in. Joan closed her eyes to receive the kiss she knew was coming. It was very tender this time: different from the first one, or the many that succeeded it that one night. Joan kissed back as tenderly as she could. It wasn't sloppy, but it wasn't just a light peck. "Oh look at me. I'm analysing a damn kiss." She thought to herself with her eyes closed.

Mike's mind was just a blind of white. A bliss of interest stirred in him and he answered the call it had. He moved his other hand to her hip to hold her while he kissed. He opened his eyes a split shutter and was satisfied when he saw her eyes were closed. He began kissing more intimately and she followed suit with him. Joan pushed her hands up and down his back, and running them through his hair when they reached his head. She missed this love more than anything. Not the tender kiss, not the passionate holding, not the sex that normally ensued, nothing like that. She missed true love. To have someone who was absolutely dead set on her. It felt damn good.

Mike pushed her into the side wall and began kissing her neck, but this Joan spoke up to. "Mike… Mike we can't do this. At least certainly not here or now." She muttered. He slowly withdrew from her and held his face so close their nose touched.

"No, I guess not, hey?" he smiled and she did too. "Especially when envy is your boss." He leaned off of her and she replied. "Yes, you better watch your tongue." She pointed seriously.

"I will! I do have some self-control."

"But not much" she smirked and walked out the opposite door. Mike could do nothing but smile as he watched her leave. He looked down to his watch and noted the time, 10:12.

* * *

At that moment 1500 miles away and 27 000 feet above the ground, Donald Draper was checking his watch aswell. He adjusted it for the fall back of time and leaned his head into the large leather chair in first class. Air travel was so peaceful to him. He felt still and yet they were moving with unfathomable speed. The stewardess' had brought him food and drinks often during the flight, and even the co-pilot had come around to talk with a few first class passengers. An older man in his late 50's to early 60's was seated beside him.

"I never thought air travel would ever become this popular." The man with spectacles commented. "I thought it was the most amazing thing during the war."

Don looked up from the paper he was reading and dropped ashes off his cigarette.

"Yes but that was quite a different time." He quipped. The other man turned to reply.

"I guess that's true. It's just so much different from train travel. I made the journey out to California in the thirties and it took days by train. You would be stuck, in the same car, for days!, with the same people. You got to know them, learn their stories, and once the train stopped, it all ended. You parted ways, most likely never to see them again."

Don pondered the truth the old man was speaking. "I never thought of it that way." He put the cigarette back in his mouth and lifted the paper. "Perhaps it was the lack of friendship that made me never board a train." Don continued. The older man replied once again.

"Oh yes? Well that was the reason I stopped riding them." Don looked over into the eyes of the man beside him and suddenly thought he recognized him. "I don't mean to be rude, but have we met before?"

"I highly doubt it. Maybe in some other life." He chuckled. Don rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. "So what do you do?" the man continued.

"I'm an advertising director, at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce in New York." He put the paper in the side folder, seeing as this man was probably going to continue pestering him. The man looked very interested none the less.

"Really? Do you have a card?" Don reached into his pocket and pulled one out.

"Donald F. Draper hey? Your names on the building then." He smiled.

"Indeed it is."

"I've been looking for a man such as you this past while; you're in my neighbourhood, perhaps I'll give you a call."

"And if you do, who shall I expect calling?" he said sarcastically.

"Nelson A. Rockefeller." Don's eyes widened.

"Mr. Governor?" the man laughed at this.

"My friends call me Nelly" he reached out his hand.

* * *

Bruce Reed was a man of no reputation. A farmer type: never dressed upper class and never cared too. He liked pretty women, a good ice cream and republican sentiments. He thought planes were a horror, cars were a glory, and mud was where we were meant to live, but he knew how to do business. Anyone in his county will tell you, the riches never changed him. He walked into Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce in a t-shirt, tattered fedora, blue jeans, and a wide smile.

Joan was waiting in the opening room when he showed up at precisely 12:00. Her eyes widened seeing him. "I'm in hillbilly hell" she thought.

"Well naw, who're you?" Bruce cracked a smile and Joan attempted not to be horrified.

"Joan Harris, I'm the director of agency operations here." She forced a wide smile.

"Damn, I wished you would have said Roger Sturrling." He sputtered out. Joan laughed and clenched her jaw trying to avoid his gaze.

Peggy was waiting at the doors to the conference room when she saw Joan approaching with the other man. Following suit, her jaw nearly fell open and she stuttered saying, "Right this way sir!"

"Why thank ya young lady." He swung open the door nearly smashing Joan in the face. Peggy laughed slightly and then quickly stopped when she saw Joan was angry. Roger stood from his chair seeming unphased by neither the attire nor the attitude.

"Names Bruce Reed. You boys are supposed to whip up some hub-bub so we can sell more ice-cream, am I right?" his grin was filled with yellowing teeth. Roger laughed, shook his hand, and nearly cringed at the same time.

"That's the plan." Bruce took a seat in a far chair of the boardroom table. Peggy stood up and walked over to the storyboards.

"Mr. Reed.." he cut her off.

"Please, Mr. Reed was my father. I'm Bruce."

"Oh.. okay. Well, Bruce then, we have prepared some pictures for you, so you can visualize the advertisements we want to put up with Bruster's."

"Go ahead." He ushered. Peggy pulled off the covers to unveil their hard work.

"Bruster's, You're home here. Since you run a very family oriented business I thought we could use that aspect to attract your target customers. We think kids eat the most ice cream, but honestly research shows that 78% of people who eat ice cream, are adults. So why not bring that thought of children and home, to your store. Like they're being treated as one of your own family."

Bruce Reed leaned back in the chair, sat a moment, then said,

"It's perfect." Peggy smiled, much too soon. "For any company but mine." He sighed.

"Why not?" Roger bucked.

"I hate my family, and I don't want to remember them." A cool silence fell over the room, then Roger continued,

"How about, Bruster's: You're always welcome here. Nothing to do with family, but still has the ring of invitation and friendliness." He leaned in hoping for a good answer.

"I like that better. It feels like I want to stay there."

Peggy let out her breath in relief. Stan smiled at her.

"So what say we just change the slogan, and leave up all the drawings. Perfect match."

Bruce sat in silence crossing his fingers. For a silent 2 minutes they waited in anticipation.

"I like it… but still not there…" Falco jumped in quickly and Roger looked a little miffed.

"Bruce, if you don't like your family, then you don't want that slogan. It's too personal. You want something the opposite. Something that says "Come getaway from them."

"I do?" Bruce looked confused

"He does?" Roger was red in the face with anger. "Mike I think we just had a great slogan."

"Bruce, you want something that is a getaway. Something that screams "Leave it all behind, and come to Bruster's. I say we change it too "Escape To Bruster's". Simple, quick, catches the ear, and all those adults wanting to leave their kids behind will jump at this opportunity."

Bruce smiled his yellowing grin. "Dammit boy, you got some gut. I love it. Could you change it to that lassy?" He pointed to Peggy.

"Of course I could."

"That's what I like to hear! Mr Sterlin', you got yourself a bunch of A-lister crew people here. You keep em' close ya naw?" he laughed a deep gut laugh. Roger extended his hand.

"Yes we have quite some characters here, that's for sure." He looked Mike dead in the eyes. Dead.


	8. Chapter 8- Dick and Anna

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 8: Dick and Anna, 64'**_

Donald Draper's plane landed at 10:00 a.m. exactly; it ended with a smooth descent into the metropolis of Los Angeles. The heat swept over him as soon as the white airplane door swung open. The sun was shining brightly above him and the air was moist with the sea. Don had made reservations at the Hotel Santa Monica by the pier and had a 10th floor suite. It took him a while to navigate the troubling streets and hectic freeways; he had rented a '59 Cadillac convertible for the trip, and eventually he arrived at 11:00. First was lunch on the patio of the restaurant in the hotel, and then it was across the street towards the beach. Young girls frolicked about with their boyfriends; people of all sorts tanned on the warm sand. Don was wearing a t-shirt, shorts, his aviators and a grey fedora. Some ladies passing buy smiled at him, and he smiled but continued walking. He lit a cigarette in his mouth and inhaled deeply. "This place is beautiful" he thought to himself. Don leaned against the concrete divider between the beach and the sidewalk. He looked around slowly and could hear music playing in the distance. The heat was getting stronger and he could feel a tan coming on. For the first time in a long while, Donald Draper was content.

It was a ten minute drive to San Pedro; at the speed Don was going. The wind was furiously blowing through his hair as he laid the hammer down on the I-5. The V8 throttled like a bat out of hell and the car leaned with the speed. Other cars in the slower lane flew by like dots in his view. Finally the exit for San Pedro came upon him and he careened into the corner, whipping through the bend.

The suburb of San Pedro had always intrigued Don. Ever since the first time he drove through the places, decades back, and even now it still had its charm. It wasn't obtuse and large like Los Angeles, but was small and more like a hometown. The modesty was still held in grandeur there. It was for this reason that he had bought Anna the house there. There was a flower shop on fifth called Rosa's to which he stopped in at least once per visit to San Pedro. The young blonde girl who ran the shop was especially friendly to Don, no matter how little or often he was there. The little bell above the door rang as he walked inside,

"My stars, well if it isn't Donald Draper." She smiled intently at him. "How have you been?"

"I'm alright Rosa. How have you been?" he leaned against the counter she was standing behind.

"A lot busier than usual actually, it seems everyone is getting married, and they ask me to cater the event." She smiled again. "Business is doing very well. How is Sterling Cooper treating you?"

"Actually Sterling Cooper no longer exists. We reformed the company. Long story short, we all fired ourselves and started fresh. Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, is now up and running on east Madison Ave." he smiled at this point

"Woaw, Mr. Big Shot with his name on the building and all. Congratulations." She extended her hand. He met it and lightly shook

"To you as well." He paused a moment. "Could I have a bouquet of white orchids?"

"Course, just gimme a second here." Rosa ran to the back room and spent time preparing fresh flowers for Don. The shop smelled strongly of lilacs and lavender; not his favourite but still a pleasant aroma. She returned with the bouquet wrapped in white paper and with a ribbon on the middle.

"Thank you Rosa." Don placed a twenty on the table and began to walk out.

"You forgot all your change." She yelled to him.

"I hate change." He smiled and turned towards the road. The glass door closed gently behind him and he put the orchids on the passenger seat. Once the car was started, he began driving towards the far side of town.

Anna Draper's house had sat untouched for a full year. Don hadn't got around to putting it on the market yet: he didn't really have the heart to. The key was still under the little rabbit rock by the front steps. The front door creaked open loudly and the house was completely empty. A pain in his heart began growing as he walked inside, remembering her. Don remembered the night he told Anna he was getting married to Betty and how happy she had been for him. He remembered most though, the last time he ever saw her.

Don walked into the kitchen and found a knife sitting on the refrigerator. He picked it up and walked into the living room, to the corner, where Anna had painted the flowers onto the wall and they had signed their names. He cut a hole in the dry wall around their names and pried it off the wall. _"Dick and Anna 64'"_

Once Don had locked the door for the final time, he kissed his hand and pushed it against the wall. The Cadillac started with a grumble and he drove off down the road to Oak Point Cemetery, where he would lay the flowers against her grave and kneel in the soft grass in tears.

* * *

"You know what kid, I was wrong. You've got guts. You stood up in front of my client and wrangled that bull." Roger inhaled his cigarette and leaned back in his office chair. "But next time, leave the talking to me. I'm sure I could have come up with something like that if I had time."

"Thanks Roger, and I'm sorry about that but we got the account nailed down, and I think that's really all that matters." Mike replied.

"Yes…. Well I'll put in the good news to Don in a bit. Keep it up. You can go now." Michael stood from the chair and walked out of Sterling's office. Peggy approached him on the way out.

"Did he give you hell?"

"A little but not really. I think Roger just can't admit that I bested him in there." Peggy smiled but retorted,

"Don't get cocky. Especially in this business. I knew a guy who got cocky, made some hasty decisions and lost it all, really quick."

"Alright, alright! Sorry mom, I'll humble myself" He laughed a bit. Joan approached Mike and Peggy with a smile.

"I hear we now sell Bruster's ice cream."

"Well it didn't take too much to convince Cletus that he needed to follow our ideas." They all laughed as Ken walked over.

"Well done ladies and gents. Lane has been spewing about it for a while now. Sales are up 12% he says, and were only 45% away from reaching our old billings target. Just gotta reel em in" Ken raved.

"That's still a far cry away from our old 70%."

"True, but we are catching up, and that's what counts. Soon we'll be able to hire more people to fill positions where a few of us have 4 jobs and I won't have to share an office with this guy."

"I pray for your soul." Mike held his heart.

"Well I appreciate that." Ken laughed and saw Harry in the distance. He yelled his name and ran over to him. Peggy broke the silence,

"Well Stan and I are going to be working the rest of the day on redrawing the storyboards for Don when he gets back. If you need us we'll be in the creative room" she nodded and left them.

"So what are you up to for the rest of the day?" Mike asked

"Well I'm certain to be here late. Lane wants me going over sales reports with him, and needs help calculating our loan debts with the bank. After that I'm here doing office reorganization, because someone needs an office." She smirked at him. He returned the sly smile.

"Sounds like a shame."

"Oh it really is. And what will you be doing?"

"Roger put me up to calling possible clients and asking them for dinners or a chance at their accounts. I can't help but feel like it's a useless errand but I don't need him disliking me anymore than he does."

"Smart boy." Joan laughed. "It's better to have him on your good side."

"I thought so too."

"Good well I have a lot to do, we'll talk soon I'm sure." She smiled and began walking away.

"Hey, I was wondering," Joan slowed and turned towards him. "Care to escape to Bruster's with me later?"

"I could go for ice cream." She laughed and kept walking.

* * *

"Yeah we did Don. The accounts all sewed up…. Oh yeah. We'll I had to dig into him a bit. And the kid helped to. But we broke him and he agreed to sign with us." Don was very pleased. Roger could tell. "Yes it took a bit. And we changed the slogan…. Escape to Bruster's… yeah it's great isn't it. Okay well ill talk to you later then. Yeah bye Don." Roger hung up the phone in satisfaction. He felt like he finally had a grip on things. His company was rising from the ashes whence they came and he was making more money. His Joan problem was mostly soon to fold itself up and the little kid will have to cry without her he thought. The devil spoke and Joan walked through his office door.

"Isn't this a nice surprise." Roger smiled at her, Joan looked up and smiled back. "What brings you to the casa de Roger?"

"Lane needs you to sign these checks for everyone on payroll." She placed them on the desk in front of him.

"One condition. You let me take you to dinner tonight." He leaned back slyly.

"Then I guess you'll have an angry mob of unpaid employee's at your door tomorrow morning." She scoffed.

"Oh come on! It's completely innocent! It's just dinner! Look I'm trying to be a respectable gentleman here."

"Then I respectfully decline. I have a prior engagement."

"Break it off then!"

` "Roger!" Joan was visibly annoyed.

"Fine. Go have fun with Michael then." She raised an eyebrow. "I hear everything through these walls."

"We're going for ice cream. Why don't you take Jane out for dinner? You know, like normal couples do?" she smiled condescendingly and began walking away.

"People are guessing about you and Mike you know." She stopped in her tracks at the door. Without turning to look she replied.

"Let them guess. Office gossip will always happen. And Roger, don't call yourself people." She closed the door behind her. Roger could do nothing but smile at her wit.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon seemed to breeze by for Mike. He made a sparse few phone calls, but did manage to get dinners for Roger with a select few individuals from various corporations, mostly secular divisions of mega-conglomerates. He was mostly hung up on, and left feeling unsatisfied. Ken was busy at work sifting through files most of the day and wasn't very talkative. Peggy and Stan never left the creative room. It was a true, work day. At six thirty, Ken was one of the last few to leave. He waved goodbye and Mike made his way to Joan's office. He knocked quietly and he heard he say "Come in." She had her back to him, and so he walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, slowly massaging them.

"I know these hands." She smiled with her eyes closed. "You never realize how much work you do in a day, until someone massages the stresses away."

"A proverb?" Mike said. "Or Joan's words of wisdom?"

"Perhaps a little of both." She chuckled.

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah I can take a break. Afterwards we need to stop back here so I can grab my portfolio."

"Fine with me. I'm starved though."

"As am I." she stood up and put on her coat which matched the pink dress she was wearing.

The cab they boarded took a roundabout way to arrive at the centrally located Bruster's. Apparently a large crash downtown had occurred and everyone was rerouted. It was worth the wait, Mike thought.

Michael and Joan had a spectacular time; at least that's what he thought of it. They had burgers and fries with large ice cream cones for dessert. Conversations varied from previous relationships, to home life and family, to the election of 1960 when SC held a party all night.

After, It took not long for them to return to the building and get back upstairs. Joan took off her coat and hung it on the rack in her office while Mike searched through the many empty offices, looking for sign of life. After a brief 5 minutes, he saw everyone had gone home. It was 8:30 after all. He slowly crept back to Joan's office where he walked up to her and placed his arms around her waist.

"Mikey I need to get my stuff." She smiled.

"I know, but that doesn't mean I can't admire?" she laughed quietly. It wasn't long before Mike had brought his lips to hers and they were kissing. He felt a deep heat burning within him as they kissed. They started bumping into things and soon objects were being knocked off Joan's desk. She pulled his over coat off and Mike had the honour of undoing his own shirt and pulling down Joan's pretty pink dress. Mike kicked his shoes into the far door, which closed with a thud.


	9. Chapter 9- Looking For Freedom

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only. Also, the song, Freedom by Anthony Hamilton and Elayna Boynton, (Written for Django Unchained), is owned by its respectful owner and is not mine.)

_**Chapter 9: Looking For Freedom**_

Donald Draper spent the rest of the week of his short vacation driving up the coast: from San Diego to Sacramento, he simply drove: Nothing to fill his head but ideas. His memories clouded him but his sight became clearer. He began missing home, and that Monday he boarded a flight back. The plane flight was quick and painless, like most.

Midday Monday he touched down in New York and made it a goal to get to work for the tail end of the work day. After grabbing a suit from his apartment he drove himself to work in his car, pulling up at 3:30. Once he breached the main doors, Peggy was the first to approach him.

"Don! How was your trip?"

"It was nice, thank you. Very warm." The walked together down the hall. Lane walked out of his office,

"Donald! I thought I heard a familiar voice. You look very tanned, it must have been beautiful there."

"It was, next time I'll bring you along." Don smiled and Lane held his hands together,

"I would quite enjoy that." He smiled back and continued, "Also, good news, we're up 12% and our profit margin is larger now. Only forty three more to go until we break our old line."

"Good. I can finally look forward to the next day here." Lane began walking towards Pete's office as Don and Peggy made their way to his corner office.

"What's that you have there?" Peggy pointed to the long sheet of dry wall in Don's arm.

"It's artwork from an old friend. I'm hanging it in my office." He murmured.

"How… unique." She stumbled on the words. "Anyway, I'm sure you heard we got Bruster's." Peggy was quite excited at this point.

"Yes, when Roger called he sounded more than a little enthusiastic. I'm glad this boat can still float without a captain." He sat down in his chair. Peggy just smiled,

"Okay, we'll I'll just be in the lunchroom if you need me." She walked out the door and shut it. Don stood up from his seat and rolled the chair underneath the door, and stood on it. Above the door, there was a small lip just wide enough for the dry wall section to rest upon it, but not fall off if shut forcefully. He placed it and stepped down. As he rolled his chair back to his desk, Pete Campbell barged through the door.

"Don, glad your back." He clasped his hand. "I just got off the phone with Viacynth Chemicals and they are looking for a fresh look and someone to represent them. I said you'd be happy to sit down with them." Pete smiled slyly. Don reclined in his chair and smoked cigarette.

"I will but you'll be riding shotgun on this account. You have more experience with those types of companies. Have Joan Xerox me a few sheets on the company and I'll read up on them."

"Perfect, I'll have that for you soon then." Pete began walking out and noticed the names above the door. He slowed down and read the names.

"Who is Anna?" Pete turned to Don.

"She was a very good friend of mine. Now run along Pete." Don didn't look up from his paper. Pete left the room as he shrugged his shoulder. A tear rolled down Don's cheek.

* * *

Joan Harris was in the lunchroom talking among her colleagues. They discussed much; everything from the war to new cars, boyfriends and husbands to top fashion. Joan was wearing a deep purple dress than ran to just above her knees, and the girls had complimented her fully on the choice and the colour. Although she wasn't one for basking in admiration, it did feel good. Peggy was actually talking with the group too, which surprised Joan. She normally avoided these types of social confrontations, especially since her and Joan didn't get along well.

"Well thank you girls for the update, unfortunately, duty calls." She took her clipboard and the secretaries said their goodbyes. Joan was halfway walking down the corridor when she felt two hands cover her eyes. She smiled and then said,

"Mike, I hope you don't want me to trip!" she turned around to face him but in a second of disbelief realized she was terribly mistaken.

"Who's Mike?" the tall man with brown hair and eyes looked confused.

"Greg! What are you doing here?" Joan's look of stupefaction continued.

"They sent me home for a break, I don't know why but apparently they said some strings were pulled and I get two weeks back here with my Joannie." He smiled. "I thought you'd be happier than this!"

"Oh, I am Greg. I'm just a little taken aback, I didn't expect to see you for a while now… and then you just showing up took me by surprise."

"Well I'm sorry I put you off…" he looked disappointed

"Oh no, don't be at all! I'm sorry I'm just a mess at the moment." She smiled queerly. "I just have a lot on my mind with all these papers to be filed and everything." A few secretaries walked up behind them.

"So this is the infamous Greg Harris." Charlene said.

"I hope I'm not that infamous." He chuckled and looked to Joan.

"It's only good things, I assure you." She said.

"That's good to hear!." He smiled. "Tonight I'm taking you to Valentino's on Broadway." The girls ooo'd and ah'd at the statement.

"Greg. You really don't have to."

"Oh but I want to. You deserve this." She smiled and at that moment he leaned in to peck her on the lips.

Michael Falco had just arrived at work with an arm full of papers and his leather briefcase in the other. He walked through reception with a broad smile. He crossed the open area with a quick step and made his way towards the hall. Mike waltzed around the corner just in time to see an older and taller man kissing Joan.

His heart stopped in his chest. The blood quickly drained from his face and ran from his hands to protect the heart that was under attack. His stomach churched like a washing machine and he immediately dropped his briefcase which hit the ground with a loud thud. The crash snapped the locks open and papers spilled out everywhere. Peggy walked out of the lunchroom at that moment.

"Mike! You dropped your things!" everyone further down the hall turned to see him. Joan's face held a look of abject horror. She could do nothing. It was in this helplessness that Peggy bent down and began to pick up his things, but Mike stood completely still, staring into Joan's cold blue eyes. They were glassed over, like a shield had come up to protect her.

"Mike, are you going to help me?" he looked down slowly and shook himself from the stupor.

"Yes… of course… sorry." He bent down in lifeless form and began throwing his things into the briefcase. Silence was broken by one of the secretaries,

"Poor Mike, just not his day I guess."

"Ah so that's Mike." Greg said in a sly smile. "You two friends?" Joan continually stared at Michael.

"yes... He's a nice guy." The tone in her voice was unchanged. Mike had pushed everything inside of his briefcase, shut the locks on it and began walking down the hall, although in his heart, he knew it was to the gallows. As he approached them, Joan spoke up.

"Michael Falco, this is Greg Harris, my… husband." Greg extended his hand with a grin. Michael reached to shake it, slow and methodically.

"Pleasure." Was the one word he managed to squeeze out. Mike immediately began walking away.

"Strange friends you got here Joan." A few of the secretaries giggled and Joan's face contorted in slight anger.

"He's normally not like that at all. He's very open and talkative regularly." Gisele spoke up.

Mike didn't know what to do. A cloud of anger was thundering in his mind and the storm was unstoppable. He was just as mad for having fallen for Joan as he was for the incident. How could he have let his heart go? Her heart belonged to someone else. He clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white. A fool; Just a fool's errand. Those words spun in his mind. Mike walked up to the giant glass windows on the back wall. The sun from the warm afternoon bathed him in light. An old song from church made its way to his brain and he slowly sang it,

"I am looking for freedom, looking for freedom. And to find it, cost me everything I have." Peggy walked up behind as well and sang the second chorus with him in harmony.

"I am looking for freedom, looking for freedom. And to find it, may take everything I have." He let the song ring out in his ears.

"You have a very beautiful voice Mike."

"I'm surprised you knew that song." His gaze didn't leave the window.

"What's eating you?" she leaned against the sill.

"Life." His voice was monotonous.

"You know if you want to talk, I'll just be in the creative room. Heartbreak and I are best friends." Peggy retracted herself and began walking away. Mike didn't move his feet but he turned and watched as Peggy walked away. In the distance Joan was looking at him. He caught her eye, then turned back to the window.

* * *

Joan was so distressed she felt faint and queasy. The thoughts running through her head were clear but in a jumbled heap and a widespread mess. She loved Greg but she was falling for Mike. How could she let this happen? How reckless and childish, she thought. Seeing Greg brought her happiness, knowing he was alright and that he was happy to see her helped a lot. Knowing that she ripped out Mike's heart absolutely killed her. There was no way she could know how he felt but seeing him like this was terrific; terribly horrific. As Greg socialized with the girls, Joan's eyes remained on Mike. He was just standing there; Unmoving and broken. Passersby tried talking to him but he wouldn't acknowledge them. "I shouldn't feel bad, he knew what he was getting into." Even saying that was a lie to her.

"Gregory!" Roger poked his head out from the office. "I thought I heard your laugh!"

"Roger Sterling, the big man himself." Greg smiled. Roger walked over and shook his hand.

"Glad to be back?"

"Yes, the world isn't quite the same over there as it is here."

"No doubt! I remember being out there in the field. Makes you miss your woman and certainly a good steak dinner." Roger cracked a wide smile and his teeth glinted in the sunlight.

"Yes, it sure did." Greg put his arm around Joan's back. Roger could see Joan was off by a mile. Seeing her like this pained him slightly, a feeling he thought he would never feel.

"Well, Joan, aren't you happy to see your man?" she looked over from the window and looked into Rogers ice cold eyes.

"I certainly am."

"You know what, Joan, why don't you take the rest of the day off? Maybe tomorrow too. You only have two weeks!" Roger offered enthusiastically.

"Thanks Roge!" Greg shook his hand. He pulled Joan by the hip towards the exit. "Do you have your things hunny?"

"It's just in my office." She motioned to the door. They both entered. Once inside, Joan questioned,

"So how did it happen?"

"We were in the medical truck behind the lines and my superior officer turned to me after a long wave radio call saying that I was going home for a few weeks. Some Captain in New York thought it was a good idea to have me back I guess." Joan froze.

"Captain from New York?"

"Yeah, Joe… Smith? Stanley? Stanford. That's it, Captain Joe Stanford. He called saying it was distressing you that I was away. So I guess I have you to thank." He smiled genuinely. Joan smirked.

"Rat bastard." She whispered under her breath.

"huh?"

"Oh nothing love, I thought I knew him. Perhaps not." Joan grabbed her things and both her and her husband exited the office. Roger was still standing with the secretaries telling his tales of grandeur.

"One second. I just need to tell Roger something." She walked over to the man in grey.

"Roger, could we talk for a moment? It's about important business."

"You can't tear me away from these lovely ladies for long!" they giggled stupidly. Roger followed Joan into her office.

"What is it Red?" she closed the door behind her.

"One, you have a meeting with Don and Pete tomorrow at Valentino's, it's Viacynth Chemical. Read up on it. Secondly.."

She slapped Roger so hard across the face he stumbled back into a stray chair.

"What the hell was that for!" he piped up angrily.

"I'm sure Joe Stanford could tell me." She looked at him menacingly. And with that, Joan left the office where Roger's face turned red with a hand mark.

Mike had yet to leave the window. Joan watched him intently down the separate hall as her and Greg left.

"I'm looking for freedom, looking for freedom. And to find it, may cost me everything I have…"


	10. Chapter 10- Money, Women and Cars

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 10: Money, Women and Cars**_

After the near mental shutdown that Mike had gone through, he was surprised he even made it through the previous day. The shock didn't set in until that evening when he cried himself to sleep. "A grown man: crying himself to sleep. That is the power of the woman." He thought to himself the next morning. It was a sunny day none-the-less and Mike was thankful for it. With the new day came a need to clear his mind and so he walked to work; a mighty 37 blocks north, and 7 east. He was exhausted but a bit chipper when he got into his office. Ken greeted him with a handshake and then sat back down in his chair. Mike followed suit and began writing ideas down for a few accounts Peggy had asked him about the previous day. Joan wasn't at work. She had obviously taken Rogers' advice: Which played out well for him. No need to avoid her: yet. There was a knock on the shared office and Pete Campbell walked in.

"Mike, Ken, glad to see you're here. Don wants you two in his office so we can have a talk, it's about Viacynth Chemical. When you're ready of course." Pete smiled and shut the door on his way out.

"He probably wants us in on the account. These guys are fairly big, they own a few pharmaceutical factories around the west and east coast; could be big billings. I did my research." Ken smiled. Mike smiled back but didn't add anything. They both stood and made their way to Donald Draper's office. Ken was the first to go inside and Mike followed him. Roger and Pete were waiting.

"Gentlemen." Don stood up. "Take a seat" he moved over to a chair facing the sofa. "Viacynth Chemical has been looking for a new face. They want fresh ideas, something that isn't old school, but more a forward thinking company: looking for their customer's future. They sell anything from cough drops to antibiotics, and morphine for our troops in Vietnam. They aren't small time anymore and do have much to offer. Pete, you're probably wondering about the conflict of interest between Viacynth and Vick's: at the moment, there is none. Viacynth only wants us to take hold of their research and development sectors, to start at least. They want us to demonstrate our abilities and show the public that they mean to be in their future for generations to come. A company not just about today, but tomorrow. I think that's what we need to focus on. Ken, you're in on this because you will be handling this account once we have it. I know that means more effort, but now that we have more dollars to spend, I'm sending you a few more in each paycheck." Don winked as a broad smile crossed Ken's face. "As for you Mike, you're quick decision making is unprecedented and that's why I think you'd be a good match to work with this team." The room went silent.

"Well let's get to it!" Pete seemed joyed in the task of leading. "Today they are on a plane coming to New York and they will be stopping in at five ad agencies in 3 days. I specifically booked them in on the last day midday, so we can absolutely make an impression…"

"I'm not feeling well. Could I go?" Don looked over, confused at Mike's outburst. "Just brief me afterwards."

"Heat gettin' to ya kid?" Roger smirked.

"Nope, old war cronies are." Roger's smile disappeared and his brow rose in anger. He laughed it off, and replied.

"While you were shittin' your diapers, I was protecting your right to do so."

"And while you were saucin' back bourbon with ladies half your age in 51', I was protecting your right to do so. We all saw our friends die, granddad." Roger looked taken aback by the outburst, he butted his cigarette slowly and leaned back.

"Kids got fight then." He looked straight at Mike for the first time.

"Today just isn't my day. I'll come in later to talk about this." Mike stood from his seat and headed out the door.

"We'll talk tomorrow then." Don looked a bit miffed as the door shut behind Mike.

"What's got into him." Pete was annoyed. Roger leaned back on the couch and took a sip of alcohol, but said nothing. Don just shook his head and said "Something I guess." He looked at Roger, almost sensing what he had done.

Michael left the meeting in anger. When he finally made his way down the hall to his office he neglected to turn the handle far enough and he smashed his head into the door. He cursed as the secretaries giggled.

"Back to work!" he screamed. They immediately looked down at their typewriters and continued to write. Mike slammed the door so hard the walls shook and a picture tumbled down. He went and sat down in his chair and buzzed his secretary.

"Janice, could you please grab me an ice pack. It's Michael by the way."

"Of course." She came in within the minute holding a bag of ice.

"Thank you." He pressed it to his head gently and began writing in the silence of the room as Janice left. The day was slowly going to hell. It wasn't long before Lane came in.

"Michael? What happened…?" he questioned lightly.

"I ran into the door. What can I do you for?" Mike's eyes never left his work

"Well I have a check… For you." He seemed unsure of how to approach things. "Don, Joan and I wrote it up, as a thank you for the accounts you've helped us grab. We see your talent and we'd like to keep it. Anyway," He threw it onto the desk. "Use it with discression." He smiled as Mike looked and picked it up.

"Thank you Lane." he murmured. Lane turned and walked out of the room. Mike stopped writing and grabbed a letter opener, ripping the seal. He pulled it out: it had more zeros than he ever witnessed.

"Twenty five hundred dollars!" he gasped in excitement. Mike jumped up from his chair. He covered his mouth to contain himself and then sat down once again, leaning back. Behind the check was a small letter. He pulled it from the envelope and began reading it. "No words could express our gratitude for the work you have done here. Especially me. We'll talk soon, -J" Mike lost a bit of the zeal he had when he received the check but he was still joyed. Ken walked in and closed the door behind him.

"What are you all chipper about suddenly?" he made his way to his side chair and put his coat and things on the table.

"The hard work paid off my friend!" he whipped the check over to Ken who caught it midair. He glanced down.

"Ho, ly, shit Mikey." Ken began laughing, "Well I know who's buying the next round!"

"I think it's time I invest in a vehicle. I thought cabs were the way to go but you just look like a bum." They both laughed. Mike leaned down to his intercom. "Janice dear, hold my calls for the rest of the day, Ken and I are going shopping."

* * *

Peggy Olson was sitting in her office listening in on the Viacynth meeting. She longed to be part of that group. Lately, work was a slow burn for her. She had been working tirelessly and felt unappreciated. Stan was lying down on the couch in her office with his feet propped up. He was reading another magazine in silence.

"Stan, what makes women so different from men?" her question was earnest it seemed.

"Go stand in the mirror naked and you tell me." She could see him smiling under the magazine.

"I mean, what makes you on the competitive edge more than us? Why aren't we all bosses and you secretaries?" He closed the magazine, sensing a real conversation breaking through. Stan sat up on the couch and began,

"It's always been that way. We were just born into it, and that's how we work. It takes centuries for anything big to happen. I doubt much will change for a long time, and if it does. It will be unfair."

"Why say that?" Peggy seemed annoyed.

"Because men are supposed to be gentlemen, right?"

"Agreed. What does that have…"

"But in business we need to be aggressive, right?"

"Right…"

"Put it together. How can I be aggressively trying to win your business while kissing your ass in kindness? How can I, as a boss, give you all the responsibilities of a man's job, pay you the same, If I have to extended some womanly courtesy to you?" Stan stood up and began talking in a terribly sarcastic tone.

"Oh Stan, could you go lift 500 pounds of boxes for me. Peggy, you sit there and watch, but I'll pay you both the same." His face went from a grin to a flat line. "That's why."

"Okay, I understand your point. But in there? In the conference room when it counts."

"Why don't you go ask Freud? He can probably tell you. Now let's get some actual work done here. All this philosophy is hurting my brain."

"Fine, It was just a question." She pushed some books aside on her desk and began writing down slogan ideas. Pete barged through the door after she had jotted down a few.

"Peggy, Stan. I need some help with idea for Viacynth. Think market consumer, and what a company means to them. I'd really appreciate the help." He smiled and left the room.

"Why does he always assume that you'll do things for him?" Stan pushed curiously.

"I guess it's because I always do."

"Wouldn't kill you to stand up to him once and a… hey!" His face held a sly smile

"You and Petey over there had a little thing back in the day, didn't you?"

"How do you even put these things together!" Peggy stood up and shut the door. "It was a few years back…

* * *

Joan Harris had taken the day off to be with her husband. Well that was a lie. Joan Harris had taken the day off to avoid Michael at work. Not only because she knew how hard it was for him, but because she knew how hard it was on her. She did call in though, and tell Lane to give him an advance on his bonus and received some solace when she heard Mike and Ken had gone out shopping.

Greg had lounged about the house most of the day with Joan. There wasn't much interesting on the television, but he did find happiness in telling his wife about stories from the front, and about the new friends he had made in the army. She seemed interested to hear about him but was also a little withdrawn. Joan was sitting on the couch folding clothes when Greg approached her,

"Joannie what's wrong? You seem a little shaken, ever since I got home." She looked up from her folding.

"It's nothing Greg. I'm just a little surprised still. I was expecting to be alone… at least for a while longer. The sheets got colder and colder at night, and I got used to no one being here except me. When no one is here, why talk much?" She uncrossed her legs and stood up from folding. "I am glad you're back though love." She kissed him on the cheek and walked over to the laundry area to grab more clothing. Greg watched her hips sway and he smiled.

"You haven't changed a bit since I left." He went up behind her and hugged her tightly.

"I missed you." He whispered.

"I missed you too." She said aloud, but with little conviction in her tone. Greg spun her around and began kissing her. He was a good kisser, she would give him that, and his hand placement was impeccable but it was just, different. It wasn't the same as it was before. Joan didn't feel into the kissing. She was thinking too much in her head and not concentrating at all. He was a little too forceful at times and after a while he began rolling up her shirt.

"Greg… not right now…" but he continued clawing at the shirt and taking it off. "Greg stop." She continued kissing him but grabbed his hands and pushed them away. "Come on Joannie." He whispered gently. He persisted and changed to her pants. Joan tightened the buckle.

"Look Greg, not right now. I'm just not… in the mood. Things at work are stressing me into oblivion and, I just can't be like that for you." He pulled away and let go, with a heavy look of dissatisfaction.

"Hunny, it's been ages…"

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry but I'm sure we can soon. Just give me time to rectify my work and then I'll be alright."

"Alright." His frown turned to a smile and he kissed her once again. Joan smiled back and went to grab her coat. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Well I thought I'd just get some air. I've been doing chores all day, and I think I need a break. Care to join me?" Again she was lying. Joan couldn't handle being intimate with Greg, at least not with what was going on in her head.

"I'd love to but I have paper work. You go ahead."

"Suit yourself." Joan threw on a light coat and sunglasses, and with that she stepped outside.

The street was very crowded at 7 pm: everyone was getting to their late dinner dates or early bar excursions. Joan was 11 blocks from work when she spotted a particularly beautiful car. The white sheen of the paint glinted in the afternoon light and the blue LeMans stripes covered the angular lines like smooth vermouth in a tall glass. The chromed lettering "MUSTANG" stood out on the sides of the car, along with "GT 350" in the blue side stripes. The purr off the engine was amplified by the specialized exhaust and ricocheted off the buildings around the audience who had the privilege of hearing it. A few wandering eyes were gazing at it intently. The car slowly pulled up on the opposite side of the road waiting at the light. Two men were in the cockpit of the rocket ship on wheels. Both were wearing sunglasses and had the windows rolled down. There Goes My Baby by The Drifters was blasting through the speakers and both the men had large grins across their faces. The driver looked out the window and saw Joan. His grin stopped and he waved her over. She stood in a stupor waiting for the sunlight to leave her eyes. It took a moment but she could make out the blond haired man with Wayfarer's resting on his nose. He had an almost imperceptible grin on his face but she could see it. A little grin rose to her face. Her sadness and anger melted with the radiance of the sun and seeing him.

Mike had spent the entire day finding reasons to hate Joan. He could find none. There was nothing to stop him from liking her. His dad had always told him the saying "Buck up, or shut up." He didn't feel like this was a fight he should roll over and die about. Sitting at that light, in the setting sunlight, on that street in New York, in his brand new Shelby Mustang, he realized this. Joan made her way across the street when everyone began walking. She walked up to the window of the Mustang and leaned in.

"Good evening boys." Joan smiled. Ken cocked his head over and said,

"Evening ma'am. Can we expect the pleasure of your graceful company in this flawless motor vehicle?"

"I believe you can." She walked around to the passenger side and opened Ken's door. Mike switched the radio channel and Take Good Care Of My Baby came blaring on. Ken got out and folded back the seat for Joan to get in.

"Thank you, for volunteering to sit in the back Mr. Cosgrove." Joan had a sarcastic smile on her lips. Ken scoffed but laughed afterward, squeezing himself in. "I always get pinched." Mike shook his head and Joan stepped into the car. The light began changing. He readied the gear lever into first. The light quickly clicked to green: Mike dropped the clutch and beared down on the gas. The rocket took off in a screech of burning rubber and blue smoke.


	11. Chapter 11- Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 11: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes**_

It was 9:00 when Michael, Joan and Ken pulled up with the Mustang in front of Joan's apartment building. There was a spot open by the front door and Mike took it quickly. He revved the engine once then killed it.

"Well, that was… an adventure." A timid smile creased Joan's red lips. "Thank you, both for taking me away."

"Anytime." Ken got out of the backseat and migrated to the front. "You know a few of us are going to Maxie's on 23rd and Lexington at 10 if you'd like to come?"

"I think being scared senseless with you boys was enough excitement for one night." Ken seated himself and shut the car door. Mike restarted the engine and it roared to life.

"Goodbye Mike" Joan looked towards him in the car. He brought two fingers to his head, held a half-smile and saluted. A look of minute disappointment flashed across her face and she turned to walk up the steps. Mike shifted the level and let off the clutch. He pulled out into traffic and sped off down the long road. Joan had taken three steps up to the brownstone, turned and watched as the car went from a white block with blue stripes to a tiny speck. She let out a sigh and walked inside.

* * *

Donald Draper was sitting at his office desk alone at 9:12. He didn't have much to do that evening but work. Roger was nearby drinking on the sofa.

"What do you think was up with the skipper today?" Roger mused.

"I don't know." Don said plainly as he rotated the paper on his desk. He continued writing in silence until Roger began speaking again.

"He got pretty angry you know, wouldn't want him to blow up at a client." Roger drank another sip.

"I doubt any clients test him like you do." Don still hadn't looked up from his work.

"Test him how?"

"Oh don't pull that with me. You know damn well. Your competitive edge is crushing you because you feel inadequate."

"Inadequate! I'm miles ahead of him! I have my own company, my wife, a great life."

"Right. Yet you feel the need to push his buttons, all the time." Roger sat silently after that remark. He pondered for a while and slowly said,

"I guess I do. Sometimes I just feel like I need to give him a hard time, you know? Just because he's got it so easy."

"No, you feel that need because Joan and he are closer than Joan and you." Don stood up from his chair and walked over to his open filing cabinet. "You need to concentrate on work. We have Viacynth coming in within the week and we still haven't had a brilliant idea."

"We're working on that." Roger piped up, offended at Don's suggestion.

"I'm sure you are. Now I'm leaving, so I'll see you tomorrow." Roger followed Don out of his office and down the hallway. Roger slipped his fedora on.

"We'll pull through, we always do. You should go out tonight, relax, and have a drink."

"Thanks but I'm having a meeting with Betty. I'm going to be late if I don't leave now, so I need to go."

"Suit yourself." They stood in the elevator quietly.

* * *

Betty Francis had chosen an old park her and Don used to walk around often. It reminded her of better times, even though it was covered in darkness. There was a shallow lamp by the bench she was seated on, and she was near a roadway where she could see Don's Cadillac approaching. He pulled up to the curb and descended from the vehicle. It lurched a bit and the door slammed closed. He walked up to the bench and sat down beside her.

"Betty." He said as he parted his trench coat.

"Don, how was work?"

"Tiring as usual. Didn't get much done with Roger reeling over me the whole day."

"That's too bad." She lit a cigarette and smoked it gently. "So how are your women?"

"They are non-existent." Don himself lit a cigarette. He inhaled and the exhaled the smoke through his nose. "I though you read my letter." Suddenly the memory flooded back into her mind and she could see his handwriting on the yellowing paper. _"I know you'll find someone quickly, but I'll be alone forever. –Don."_ She felt sadness, not pity, but true sadness for him.

"Oh… I see." She continued smoking her cigarette.

"How's Henry?" he looked at her through the cloud of blue-white smoke.

"He's good. Busy with work like you. With the campaign coming up and all: he has many late nights." She looked away with an awkward smile.

"That's good." Don pulled another drag.

"Yes… so the kids are good."

"Yeah?" he looked over at Betty. "How's Sally's therapist?"

"She's good; she said Sally doesn't need treatment anymore.'

"That's good." Don dropped the ashes in a nearby ashtray. "No more wasted money."

"I don't think it was wasted Don. Sally is much different now, she's more aware of her life. I feel like she's accepted things… more." Betty inhaled on her cigarette.

"Well if you think so." He leaned back and put his arm across the back of the bench.

"I do… anyway. I just wanted to talk. We should have monthly meetings to discuss the kids' lives. I think it's important that we keep an active involvement in their life." Don looked surprised.

"Okay, well you set the date and let my secretary know." He smiled cockily and Betty smiled back.

"So what is new at work?" Betty looked into Don's eyes.

"We hired a new guy. He's very efficient, gets too caught up in emotions though. Good guy."

"I guess he's like you Don." He looked to Betty and pondered that thought.

"Yes… I guess you're right." Don looked off into the thick of dark. Betty leaned down on the bench and exhaled deeply.

"Well I feel bored. To be honest. Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this." Don leaned into his hands.

"I'm listening." He said quietly, looking over to her.

"I feel like I'm falling into the same story that will just repeat itself. I sit a home, with the kids at school. I have no friends in the neighborhood: I mean I call Francine every now and then but our neighborhoods are different. The people are different. The problems are too. Cheating seems so much more common in the richer estates. I've already been approached twice."

"That's not surprising." Don added. Betty looked offended.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're beautiful. Naturally men would seek you out quickly." he looked over to her. Betty was shocked and replied,

"Oh… why thank you Don." His kindness surprised her. She smiled at him and Don smiled back.

"Honestly just keep being vigilant and find a hobby. Don't be of the world but live in it. Stand above it all. Keep your head up Betts, you'll do fine." He leaned forward and dropped his cigarette on the pavement, snuffing it with his shoe.

"Do you regret it?" Betty looked into his eyes.

"Do I regret what?"

"What you did." She looked perplexed.

"Every moment of every day." He looked away to avoid her eyes.

"Oh... really?" Betty felt as though she shouldn't believe him, but something in her told her he was being honest. "It's nice to hear that after all this time."

"Well it's true." Don stood from the bench. "Are we done here?"

"I suppose so. Would you walk me to my car? I don't like wandering around the parks at night." Betty stood beside him and tightened her coat. Don motioned for her to lead the way. They walked in silence for a while and then she spoke. "I appreciate this. It's nice to talk civily." Don didn't say anything. They reached the black Lincoln and she turned to face him.

"Again thank you Don." Betty smiled: she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. She immediately backed away and blushed. "My goodness… I'm so sorry. It's just been a long time… and well, you know what it is." She evaded his gaze.

"If you're going to make a mistake, do it right." Don put his hand on her chin and turned her face towards his. Betty managed to squeak out,

"Don.." and then he kissed her. Her eyes remained open and she was terrified, but did nothing to stop him. Eventually she felt that soothing feeling in her stomach and she closed her eyes and kissed him back. Her brain screamed at her but what's done was done, and honestly she needed some differing affection. She could feel how different Don's kiss was from Henry's: it was like night and day. Don was more vigorous and took charge, whereas Henry was tender and very light. Deep inside of Betty she liked this Don, who took over.

Don pushed her into the Continental and she leaned into him. The street was empty and Betty reached for the rear door handle, pulling it open. She slid inside and pulled Don by the tie, who smiled and climbed in behind her.

* * *

Joan had just opened the door to the apartment and put down her things when she saw a note on the table.

_"Saw you went out with your buddies in the new car. I'll be home later. Much later."_ Joan sighed and threw the letter in the trash. She sat down on the couch, let down her hair and turned on the television. The news updated of some ship sinking off the coast and then some boring advertisements popped up. She turned off the TV, picked up a book, and slid on her glasses. 9:30 approached with ease and then followed by ten. She looked at her watch and thought. "I guess they're starting now…" Her lips twitched in dilemma. At 10:10 Greg stumbled through the door in a drunken stupor.

"You're home early." She didn't look up from her novel. Greg threw his coat onto the floor and kicked his boots into the wall.

"Didn't think…. I'd see you here…" He jumbled the words. "How was screwing your friends?" He laughed.

"Don't say that Greg. I went for a drive with my friends. That's all."

"Oh yeah…?" he reeled towards her. "Why… should I believe you?"

"Because I'm telling the truth? You're drunk and need sleep. Go to bed."

"I don't want to. I want to have fun." He over-smiled and showed his stained teeth.

"You certainly won't be having any of that fun tonight." The grin slipped away from his face quickly and turned to an angry frown.

"Yes I will." He grabbed her arm.

"Greg. Let go of me." Joan was scared but kept confidence in her voice.

"Why should I?" he loosened his grip on her arm. She released tension and stood from the couch.

"You need to go to bed. You need to sleep off this drunkenness. When you get up tomorrow, we'll talk." Greg looked over to the bedroom and stumbled up.

"Fine Joannie… don't be a bitch."

Joan grabbed his tie which was hanging down and pulling his face towards her, she struck him across the cheek with such intensity that he tumbled to the ground.

"Ow! Shit!" he yelled.

"I'm going out tonight Gregory. I'll be back later. Much later." Joan stepped over his body and put on her heels. She was decently dressed for an outing: a work dress would just have to do. Once downstairs, she hailed a cab.

"Maxie's on 23rd and Lexington please." She shut the cab door behind her. Greg was yelling obscenities out the window. Who cared?

* * *

"So how bout this place?" Ken smiled and waved his hand around. The club was very well built: it had blue and green neon lights and was structurally a semi-circle, with the middle of the circle being the band and brass sections, and the further you moved out, the more tables there were. The final ring was the elongated bar which wrapped around the entire interior.

"Pretty swanky, my friend." Mike laughed.

"This place is like a chick magnet. They come here to find guys crawling in cash and having a good time written all over their face."

"Is that what we're here for?" Mike smiled at him. "I thought it was for the music and drinks."

"Oh it is, but a little pleasurable company couldn't hurt, hey Mikey?" Ken winked.

"Married man? Tsk tsk."

"Hey, I can look but I certainly won't touch. Besides, Cynthia is joining us in a half hour when she gets back from her mothers."

"That sounds more like Ken Cosgrove." Mike laughed deeply. Harry Crane waltzed up to the men leaning on the metal railing.

"Gentlemen." He leaned on the railing as well. "How is the evening going thus far?"

"_This just in,_ three lonely saps leaning on a rail talking about dancing watch as other people have actual fun!" Ken sounded so much like an announcer it scared them. Harry piped up,

"Yup that's us." Crane had a drink in his hand which he indulged in quickly.

"How many of those have you had?" Mike questioned.

"Three."

"Three?!"

"Alcohol doesn't help your dancing Harry, it makes you worse."

"Yeah, yeah, screw off." Ken smiled at Mike and they laughed. Cynthia and Jennifer walked through the door at the same moment. They were both talking with each other and Ken waved them over.

"Aren't you ladies looking beautiful tonight!" they giggled. "Finally some dance partners." Harry added. Mike felt a pang in his heart for a moment, then he spoke up,

"Go have fun. I'll be at the bar waiting till' later."

"You sure? No man left behind."

"I'll be fine Ken, go ahead. Warm up the floor." Mike smiled and walked slowly to the bar. Ken and Harry lead their wives down to the dance floor and began jiving to the music.

"Scotch on the rocks." The bartender spun around and grabbed a bottle of Glenfiddich, pouring it into a wide-bottomed glass. He dropped ice in and handed it to Mike who took a long slow sip. The music was really catchy and Mike started tapping his foot. He began moving to the beat and spun around straight into a red head in a light blue dress.

"Good evening sir." She smiled at him

"I feel like I know you from somewhere." Mike smiled shyly.

"Well you did drive me around in your new car just a few hours ago, but that might be someone else."

"Oh, oh yes, now it's coming back to me. I thought you said you were too busy and tired!" He ran his hands through his hair in nervousness.

"I guess not tired enough. Will you finish that drink with me?" she looked into his wandering eyes.

"Of course." They both went to sit on bar stools. "Sazerac cocktail." She ordered. "How have you been?" Joan turned her attention to Mike.

"Great… just great." He looked past her.

"Tell me the truth." She pried

"I'm alright."

"Michael…"

"I'm terrible. I feel horrible for putting you through all this. All of this indecision in your life. I know it's terrible on me, let alone having to deal with the stellar war hero of a husband. I should just butt out. I just can't help myself you know."

Joan paused before responding. "Mike you shouldn't feel bad. It takes two people to make things move along. I was very into it… am still very into it. Greg isn't all he's built up to be. I do love him but he's so harsh and forgetful sometimes. The military has changed him and I don't like it much. Right now, he's in bed and terribly drunk. I needed to get away." She took a sip of the drink as it arrived.

"Oh… well I'm sorry. You know I'm here to talk..."

"Isn't that what we are doing?" she smiled.

"I guess so." He returned a genuine smile. "Dance with me?"

"That's why I came." Joan felt good being a little bolder this time.

It didn't take much time for them to reach the floor and begin quickstepping to the big brass band. The box step followed and was really the safest bet for Mike. He laughed watching Jennifer try explaining it to Harry, who of course messed up the easiest dance moves in history. He kissed her gently on the dance floor that night too.

It was 1:30 when they left in Mike's Shelby Mustang and drove through the darkened streets towards his apartment.


	12. Chapter 12- A Drug Called Love

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 12: A Drug called Love**_

Mike and Joan rolled up to his apartment at 1:50. The street lamps illuminated the Mustang as he covered it with a sheet. "Wouldn't want the envious to become criminal." He smiled. It was a brief walk up the stairs and into the building. The key slid into the apartment lock with ease and he pushed open the door.

"For a bachelor," Joan thought, "He has decent cleaning skills." Some clothes were scattered about, but at least the dishes were done.

"Welcome to my humble abode." Mike said.

"It is quite humble." She giggled.

"Okay, well I spent all my money on the car and now have more debt to pay. Mike's shack can wait" He laughed. Joan walked over to his sofa and sat down.

"Can I get you anything? Water, or something?" Joan looked up to him and replied,

"Just water will do." Mike left her presence for a moment, going to his kitchen and grabbing drinks. He returned quickly, handed her the water and sat down beside her.

"Did you enjoy dancing?" he questioned.

"I certainly did." She smiled and continued, "I hope I'm a suitable partner."

"In more ways than one." He smiled boldly as she blushed and looked away. "I really appreciate your help around the office." He added.

"It's nothing Mike. It was just a few pointers, you're very welcome though." She grinned.

He returned the smile but it slowly faded from his visage. "So what happened last night? I could tell you were… just slightly off." Joan took a large sip of water and held the glass between her hands.

"Greg came home drunk after seeing you, Ken and I leave in your car. I guess he took that as objective cheating. He got angry, I got scared… So I left, and knew you boys would be at the bar." An angry feeling rose in Mike's heart.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, no, nothing like that. He was just being an ass and needed a timeout."

"Good. He doesn't need a good beating then." Mike smiled and Joan continued,

"No, I'm sure he got the message." She finished off the water and leaned back on the couch. He took her glass and stood.

"I'll be back in a minute." He left the room and Joan closed her eyes slightly. Michael put the glasses back in the cabinet after cleaning them, and sorting a few dish towels in the drawer. He walked back into the living room.

"So I thought maybe we could…." He looked to Joan who was unmoving on the couch. "Joan?" she didn't answer. "Or I could watch television and you could sleep." He chuckled to himself and went to a chest behind the drawer pulling out a blanket and setting it across Joan, up to her shoulders. He went up the TV, turned it on and switched down the volume. After taking a seat beside sleeping beauty, she leaned into him and fell into a deep sleep.

Mike watched some sports channels for a while and then switched it to the news. Nothing very interesting was on, so after a half hour he turned off the TV and picked up Joan in his arms, walking her into his bedroom. He set her down, pulled off her dress and slipped her into bed where she rolled over and made slight snores. Mike undid his tie and pulled it off. He sat down at the chair nook in the corner of his room and fell asleep leaned back with thoughts of her in his mind.

* * *

Donald Draper sat motionless in a chair by the great 12 pain window of his apartment. The lights were all off except a desk lamp that illuminated the paper in front of him. It was raining outside, and appeared like a thunderstorm was fast coming towards the city. He began writing down a few words in his journal.

"_Well I probably shouldn't have fooled around with Betts. I just want the best for her. I feel terrible for pushing her away from me in the first place. I really don't like Henry, not that it matters. He just seems like a time waster, like he is too wrapped up in work and in his other life. I guess, he's like me."_

Don leaned back and put the pen back in its holder. He rubbed his hands across his forehead and exhaled deeply. It was 2:30 in the morning and he was startled by a ring at the phone. Slowly, he turned to watch it ring out once more. Don stood from his chair, approached the phone, and picked up the receiver.

"Hello." The line was silent. "Hello?"

"Hi Don… It's Betty." She blurted out.

He waited a moment before replying. "How are you?"

"I'm alright; I'm alright… anyway about tonight. I just wanted to apologize… I feel responsible for the issue that was created."

"Don't apologize Betts, it takes two to tango. I'm sorry for not respecting the boundaries that are put before us. It's something I couldn't do in… or out of our relationship."

"It's okay, what happens, happens, and there is no need to dwell upon it now. I was just frustrated and needed to let off steam. I guess you can understand that."

"Yes I can very well." He waited for her to continue.

"Let's not let this come between us… we need to be there for our kids and to be strong for them."

"Absolutely." Don replied. Betty smiled on the other end of the line.

"Good, I'm glad. Goodnight Don." She finished.

"Goodnight Betts…" he hesitated a moment then added. "I miss you." Betty froze on the other end of the line. She took a breath and muttered,

"I miss you too Don… I miss you too." And with that she hung up the phone. Don hung up on his end and smiled.

* * *

Betty Francis' hands were shaking. She missed the phone hanger three times before successfully disconnecting. Sitting against the wall, she slowly slid down until she was sitting on the ground.

* * *

"It must be early" Sally Draper thought as she sat up in bed. It was dark outside and raining decently too. She looked at the small clock beside her bed. It was 2:31. She got out of bed with a thirst in her throat. The hallway of their house was casting dark shadows onto the floor, and Sally slowly crept around them. Her mother's bedroom door was open and she could see Henry lying in bed, fast asleep. She continued tiptoeing until she was headed down the steps where she heard a voice: It was her mother's,

_"Let's not let this come between us… we need to be there for our kids and to be strong for them." _ There was a small pause and then she heard her mother speak again, "_I miss you too Don… I miss you too."_

A brief light ignited inside of Sally's heart. Hope that perhaps her parents would be getting back together soon. Hope that she wouldn't have Henry as a father, and she could have Daddy back. She smiled in the darkness and tiptoed further down the staircase. Sally could see her mother's figure sitting against the wall and slowly slipping down. A frown was brought to Sally's face, she was worried. It was at that time when Sally accidentally slipped on one of the stairs and caught herself, but not before making a thump.

Betty darted her head towards the stairwell. "Who's there"

"It's me mom." She squeaked

"Sally Draper, what are you doing up so early? Go back to bed."

"Are you and Daddy getting back together?" she questioned. Betty was hurt by the thought and felt sick telling her child the reality of the situation. She didn't need to know all the painful details yet.

"No we aren't Sally, but we are meeting up once a month to discuss things about you, Bobby and Baby Gene. Your father and I feel it's important that we share what is going on with you three."

"Oh… Okay." Sally was very disheartened hearing this. "So Henry still has to be my daddy?" she asked earnestly. Tears were rolling into Betty's eyes as she replied.

"No one is replacing Daddy in your life, okay? Henry may be my husband and your stepfather but that will change nothing about you and Daddy." Sally felt a bit better after hearing this.

"Okay mommy. I really hope so. I miss seeing Daddy every day." The honesty in her voice pained Mrs. Francis to a bitter end. Sally walked back up the stairs and went into her room.

The tears flowed like a fountain to Betty's eyes after that, and she cried on the floor until the sun came up.

* * *

Joan woke up with a shudder. She had a dream that she was free falling through her life and letting the good things pass her by. As she fell through the endless air she watched everything she loved turn to ash: "thank goodness I woke up." She thought. Feeling around in the sheets she realized she wasn't in her own bed. Joan raised her head off of the bed and looked around. The room was smaller than hers, but still very quaint. The two large windows at the end of the bed were covered with large maroon drapes. There was a small chair and table nook to the left of the bed, where a man was slouched in a wide lounge chair sleeping. Her dress was hanging from the bedroom door beside her and it was neatly pressed. She smiled and remembered what had happened.

"You're awake." Joan heard the familiar voice say.

"I thought you were asleep." She looked over to him.

"I was just resting." Michael raised his head off the rest. "I've been awake for a while now."

"Well I feel very well rested."

"You should, it's 11:00." Joan spurted upright in an instant. "We're late for work!" she uttered in worry.

"I called in. You're at an appointment with the doctor and I am out, looking into some possible accounts that Peggy wanted me to see to. Besides, Roger will vouch for you and make up an excuse if needed." Joan calmed down quickly and sunk back down into the sheets. She continued looking around.

"It's cold! How do you live with this?"

"I guess you just get used to it. Least my bills aren't too high." He chuckled.

"That's true. Did I steal your bed?" she smiled.

"No I put you there." Mike smiled back. "You fell asleep on the couch when I was cleaning up last night."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just exhausted."

"No need for that. I was too, I'm just glad that you slept well." Joan pulled off the covers and stood up, stretching her arms and back. Mike's eyes widened a bit.

"Gawking are we?" Joan laughed; she walked over to his chair and bent down, bringing her face within inches of his.

"Thank you Michael." She closed her eyes and kissed him. He received it with warmth and kissed her back. The moment lasted forever in his mind as she pulled away looking into his eyes smiling. Joan stood back up, and strutted over to the door, opening it saying,

"How about some breakfast?" Mike stood up and walked over to her, sliding his hands down her sides.

"I was thinking more of... dessert." He smiled boldly as Joan replied.

"I could go for that." She wrapped her arms around Mike and kissed him passionately. He pressed into her and moved her back into the small room. With ease Joan pulled off his unbuttoned shirt. It wasn't long before they had gone back to bed.

* * *

_**Conference Room, SCDP, 2:30 p.m.**_

"As I said when we started this, I wanted it to be a forward thinking idea: looking towards the future." Don opened. "Let's start there. Peggy, Mike, Stan, what do you got?"

Peggy spoke first. "Well I was thinking that since Viacynth was more into the future, that the ads should have things that are new, shiny, prototypes of things. Like the ad was made in the future and Viacynth is showing you what a future with them could look like. Perhaps for the commercials that Harry writes up, we could show a future with and without Viacynth showing a utopia for Viacynth and a dystopia for the "without" pictures." She paused to wait for Don's reaction.

"I like it so far. Keep going."

"For the slogan we thought, Viacynth. For your needs today, and tomorrow." Again she waited for Don to react.

"It's good. Not fantastic, but it's good. We can work with that."

"I think it's fine Don, why can't we just use that?" Pete spoke up.

"It seems overdone. The feel of it is too mechanical. Like we are the provider of only needs and not wants. We want people to want Viacynth, not just need them."

Stand spoke up. "Picture this then. The television commercials show a young girl, maybe 7 or 8, who has a serious disease and she needs help. We show like a hospital type deal behind her and Viacynth on the wall. There are people all around her and then the narrator comes on. "At Viacynth, we are looking forward with you, not only to help the kids of today, but we are constantly looking for new ways to improve our drugs so that we can secure a future for our children."

"It's too long. But I like the visual, don't get me wrong. Keep that angle with the commercials but cut the long wording. It needs to be shorter and to the point." Don added in, "Viacynth, not just about us today, but about everyone tomorrow."

Roger looked over to Don methodically. "Not bad. We might be able to win this thing."

Mike sat there twiddling his thumbs and looking at the speakers. His mind was working feverishly, trying to come up with a way to really wow the consumer. He decided then to talk,

"People want to know what they're buying. They aren't going to leap into Viacynth's arms for no reason, or because we tell them their best interest is in tomorrow."

Don swiveled his chair slowly to face Michael. "And what do you suggest."

Mike continued, "You told us they sold anything from cough drops to antibiotics, from cold syrup to morphine for our troops in the field. That is the perfect way to get a consumer's attention. To create a variant from the insignificant to the greatly important, and what is more important that American pride to an American, am I right? Add in a quip about the troops in Nam and how Viacynth is helping the war effort."

Don smiled while he heard this. "So then, during the commercials the announcer says: "From cough drops to antibiotics, from cold syrup to medication: because no one likes the graphic idea of morphine: for our troops overseas, Viacynth is always looking forward. Always looking forward."

"Always looking forward." Mike repeated. It was not long before everyone was looking around at each other and smiling.

"Viacynth. Always looking forward." Roger said.


	13. Chapter 13- You Can't Run Forever

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 13: You Can't Run Forever **_

Though the Viacynth Team tried their best, it appeared that McCain-Ericksen landed the account. It took 5 days after the initial meeting for the news to spread among the elite and eventually trickled down the hierarchy, until everyone knew. Pete Campbell was the most upset, as usual. He raved on and called back Viacynth Chemical, urging them to give SCDP another chance. They promptly told him that their idea was second, but just not exactly what they had needed. Pete hung up the phone in disappointment. Roger Sterling was disappointed to, but had had a feeling that their idea wasn't sticking like it should have.

"It's like a dart. Having every intention of landing a bull's-eye, all the potential, but the delivery was just not well done." He said to Don, the day Pete ran in, breaking the news.

Mike was disappointed as well. He had worked hard, coming up with the idea swirling in his mind. Creativity just doesn't grow on trees, and when it flowers, you have to grab it before the short season ends. Peggy was equally as disappointed. Not only did she have the letdown of the account, but she had a date set for the previous Friday, and it had gone south faster than geese in a cold fall frost.

There was a gloom hanging around the office that week, and with summer entering its full swing, they needed to reel in a few more accounts to bring them up to quota. Lane was frantic about this, and was hounding down the partners necks.

The worst of it all, for Roger Sterling: the bitter truth was losing his Joannie to a wretched low down loser. He contemplated just telling Greg that they were having an affair. That should get them apart. Then he realized Joan would instantly blame him for the losses and never speak to him again: not a pleasing route. He needed Mike out of the picture, maybe not businesswise, but at least in that relationship. Roger was sitting alone in his cold office when he had yet another, brilliant idea. He picked up his phone, and called Gregory Harris.

"Greg! Hey, it's me, Roger." There was a slight silence and then it seemed to sink in.

"Oh, Roger Sterling! Of course, what can I do you for sir?"

"It's not what you can do for me, more so what I can do for you. How about you come by the office today and we have a little talk?"

"That sounds fine, is everything alright? Is Joannie misbehaving? I'll set her straight you know." Greg laughed on his end and Roger smiled.

"No Greg, but it is something I deem important. Be here as soon as you can. Bye Bye." Roger hung up the phone, and took a swig of scotch. "Now, you're in my town kid."

* * *

Across the hall and one office down, Peggy Olson was typing away madly on her typewriter. She was recuperating lost time while on the Viacynth deal, and was now looking into small business' that needed a representative. With a few on the line, she was mailing letters out in the company name, and setting up business meetings. Just as she was midway through her third letter, Stan Rizzo barged through the door and threw himself laying down onto the couch.

"I'm trying to get work done Stan, go away." She didn't look up from her typewriter.

"Peggs, jeez, relax. I'm here to observe. Besides, there's nothing better to do right now. What am I going to do, go draw pictures for fun?" She turned her head to him and changed the subject

"No, but I do need these letters mailed personally. Give them to Joan once I'm done and skedaddle."

"Yeah, yeah k, sure. Anyway, what happened with your date Friday night." Stan looked genuinely interested so Peggy appeased him and stopped her work. She leaned onto her arms and began,

"Well he was an hour late…"

"Ooooo…. Yikes."

"Yeah, and when he did show up, he was dressed in shambles, reeked of pot and was probably high as a kite."

"You went on a date with a hippy!" Stan fell back laughing.

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Anyway, I'm never going on a blind date again." Peggy was visibly upset.

"Hey now, that is probably for the better." He smiled. "So while we are bored here, let's play a game."

"Stan, I don't have time for games."

"Oh c'mon Peggs! Truth or dare? The old childhood favorite. I'll start: Truth or dare."

Peggy replied reluctantly, "Truth."

"Have you ever kissed a guy?"

"Stan! Of course I have! Don't be an ass."

"Hey, I never know with you. Okay, you go. Truth."

"How many women have you slept with?"

"Woaw now were getting somewhere. Honestly, just two. Well three if you count yourself"

"Really?" she was shocked by his lack of womanization. "I thought more. Hmm… Truth."

"Favorite male characteristic."

"Probably their jaw line." Stan brought his hand to his jaw and said,

"Look at this fine instrument. Crafted by the hands of the lord." Peggy giggled and continued,

"Sure, sure. Hmmm…. Dare."

Stan looked around the room for a moment and then lightly asked,

"What are you doing this Friday night?"

"Nothing so far… why?"

"I dare you to go out on a date with me." Stan smiled boldly.

* * *

Greg Harris marched into Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce with an uncertainty in his step. He wasn't usually called in by people he didn't know very well. This particular incident set him on guard. With a nice suit and tie on, he plowed through the front door.

Meanwhile, 7 blocks away, Joan was walking into a dry cleaning store, handing in a dirty suit that Roger had requested she get cleaned. Out loud, she was civil and didn't mind a minute chore, but in her head she was mad that Roger still considered her a secretary who he could order around. "Oh well." She thought. "Not forever."

There wasn't many people in the office at this time, "must be lunch" Greg thought. Roger was on his sofa smoking a cigarette when Greg pushed into his office.

"Greg." Roger stood up and shook his hand. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No sir, I'm fine thank you." Greg swayed nervously where he stood

"Fine by me." Roger said. "Take a seat, will ya."

Greg walked over to a nearby chair and sat down. "So what is going on?" his voice was shaken.

"Calm down bud, I'm just here expressing some concern." Roger picked up a drink from his table.

"About?" he demanded.

"Your wife."

"What about my wife."

"You tell me. She just seems distant lately." Roger looked into Greg's eyes. "Has she been distant with you at all?"

"I guess… in the past while she hasn't been very, well you know, intimate. More withdrawn and focused on work. I mean I did piss her off something good last week and she went out with the girls or something and stayed at her friends."

"I see. Did she tell you where she was going when she left?" Roger inquired.

"No… not directly at least. She left, I was fairly inebriated, and when she came back from work the next day, she told me what happened."

"How well do you trust her?"

"Do you doubt what I say?"

"No, I'm wondering what she said." Roger took a sip of rum.

"Are you inferring that she is having an affair?" Greg stood in anger.

"Woaw there cowboy, don't get your panties in a twist. Sit down. All I was saying was that she was acting peculiar. Maybe you should take her on a vacation. Somewhere down south, Bahamas or Mexico. She could use a break. And if she is, for some odd reason in fact, having an affair… well then you shall discover that shan't you."

"I love the idea Mr. Sterling, I do, but I just don't have the money for this right now. I really would love to take Joannie out on a trip, but still haven't done my full time overseas yet, and until then, the Harris' won't receive full pension."

"What if I chipped in for this? Say I gave you a check and you used it to go on a vacation, for this last week that you are here. Would you do it?"

Greg's face widened in a dramatic smile. "Well of course I would, but why are you being so generous? First with the time off, and then this trip?"

"Joan has always been a dear friend of mine, since long, long ago. I appreciate, more, we appreciate her company so much, she deserves a break now and then!" Roger raised his glass.

"I couldn't agree more!" Greg replied. Roger walked over to his desk and pulled out his wallet, stripping a check and writing it out for a thousand dollars. He handed it to Greg who was acting like a young boy on Christmas. "Have fun boy." He yelled as Greg ran out of the office with a smile.

As Joan pulled up to the base of her building she swore she saw a man who looked identical to Greg, running down the street with his hands held high and in a flurry of excitement. "Lucky him" she mumbled.

* * *

The elderly man had waited patiently for his time to strike. At least, that's how he played it in his head. He walked slowly with care into the tall building in downtown New York City. A redheaded young lady had held the door for him and promptly asked which floor he was going to. He told her and she seemed surprised.

"What is your business there? I ask as I am the Director of Agency Operations." She smiled nicely to him, and he appreciated her gesture.

"I am here to see Donald F. Draper, about a very important matter, regarding the state of New York." He smiled as she looked more surprised.

"Oh… well alright. When we arrive, I'll get you through to him."

"Thank you tenfold my lady." He smiled.

Don received the intercom call a few minutes later and was surprised to hear he had any visitors at all.

"I haven't scheduled anything." Don replied through the intercom.

"He says he's a drop in, and it's urgent."

"Send him in."

It took another few minutes for the man to reach Donald's office, with Joan by his side, and enter his sanctuary. Don's eyes widened in astonishment and he quickly stood walking over to the man.

"Govenor Rockefeller, how nice to see you." He walked over and shook Nelly's hand.

"Nice to see you as well, Donald." Joan was frozen on the spot.

"Joan, could you close the door? Anyway, can I get you anything?"

"I'll have a cherry if you don't mind." Nelson Rockefeller strutted across the room and slumped down onto the far couch. Don went to grab his drink and handed it to him.

"You should promote this young lady. She is extremely courteous and understanding."

Joan blushed a bit, and replied. "Thank you Mr. Rockefeller. It's an honour to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." He smiled.

"Joan, could you take notes on this?" he handed her a clipboard and they both sat down.

"I'll get right to it Donald, I'm coming up for re-election as you probably know. The competition is fierce, and I don't want to fall behind in the race. I need someone, a team, to come up with a sure fire way to entice the public into believing that Nelly Rockefeller has got what they need for the future. I need them to believe Nam is where our troops need to be. I need them to believe that I can ensure that health insurance premiums don't skyrocket, I need them to believe that I should stay where I am. Can you do that for me son?" He gestured his hand out to Don.

"I'm sure I can put together a team that could easily handle this." Don smiled confidently.

"I like the attitude." He stood from his seat, followed by Joan and Don. "Now look here, I will pay you. It won't be much, our campaign manager has cut the budget in half, but, if I do win, I will extend my hand in whatever way I can, to ensure Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce sees a brighter future and better business, with less red tape." The old man smiled and Don was genuinely happy for the first time in a while.

"Absolutely Govenor Rockefeller, thank you for the opportunity." They shook hands candidly and the old man left with Joan following close behind. Don couldn't help but throw his fist into the air when the room had gone quiet again.

* * *

Don broke the news to Roger later that day. Of course, Roger was just as ecstatic as Don and immediately proposed they go on a celebratory trip to The Blue Lagoon with Lane. Don and Lane both agreed and by 6:00 p.m., they were seated by the blue whale of a bar, sipping cherry hookers and laughing about the loss of Lucky Strike.

"Things are really looking up hey?" Roger brushed glasses with the other men in the line.

"Yes, it does seem quite so." Lane smiled.

"I can't believe you met Rockefeller on that plane and never told us."

"Must have just slipped my mind." Don smiled. A few stools away, he took notice of a woman. She was of midrange stature, around 5'6 maybe, had dark black hair, like a raven and deep brown eyes, so dark they were nearly black themselves. Her nose was angular, but not too pointed at the end, and she was dressed in a very high class business suit. He was taken aback by her beauty and Lane spotted his staring.

"I see we've caught the eye of dear Donald Draper." He smiled and sipped his drink. Roger turned around the see who Lane was talking about.

"Well, I can see why you're looking." Roger laughed. "Sly devil over here."

Don had drowned out their voices and was watching her drink and speak with her friend. He was not only drawn by her beauty, but because he knew her from somewhere, a long time ago. He stood from the stool and began walking over to her.

"Go get em' tiger!" Roger shouted. He approached her with caution and tapped her on the shoulder. She slowly turned around, her eyes glinting in the reflection of light.

"I don't normally do this, but I felt compelled. Do we know each other?" The girl looked intently over Don and smiled shyly, but replied,

"No I don't think we've ever met. My name is Katy, if you're wondering though." She extended her hand to meet his. Her hand was as smooth as her voice and just as reassuring.

"Don, Don Draper." He quipped.

"I'll let you to get acquainted." Katy's friend smiled and moved down the bar. Don took her seat and smiled at her. The girl's smile disappeared and she squinted slightly.

"Now that you mention it, I feel like I do know you… Oh god." She exclaimed. Her cheeks turned bright crimson and her hand covered her mouth. "We all thought you were dead! You died in the war! Dick, is that you?"

It was at that moment that a hurricane of memories flooded Don's mind, and reminded him of the day he first met Katy Konstantine, in the third grade.


	14. Chapter 14- Small Differences

(Author's Note: Legal Disclaimer: All names, places, trademarks and copywrites belong to their respective owners; I have not intended to defame them in anyway, nor claim to own any of the advertisements in this fan fiction. This is for entertainment purposes only.)

_**Chapter 14: Small Differences**_

The following day, Lane gathered together everyone in the main room for a company meeting. He announced that their new priority was to aid Governor Rockefeller in his upcoming election campaign. In order to ensure everyone was on board, he offered a 25 cent an hour raise to any employee who voted for Rockefeller, and helped out with his campaign. Whether it be volunteering at big name fundraisers, or as small as running bake sales for their children's school in Rockefeller's name. The idea seemed to stick and many people offered up their houses to gather parties for socialites, and some even donated upfront.

When the news reached Ken Cosgrove's ears, he smiled and thought of a better idea. When Lane had dismounted the chair he was standing on to make the announcement, Ken approached him.

"Lane."

"Kenneth, how are you?"

"I'm alright, but I'll be better if you could veto an idea I have."

It was then that Ken sprawled out his idea to throw a big bash at the office: order in catering, clear out the main areas and invite many close business associates to gather together, primarily to invite Governor Rockefeller to make a speech.

"I think it's a truly, splendid idea. Perhaps confront Don on it though, wouldn't want to catch him off guard." Lane smiled.

"And Roger?"

In a matter-of-fact way, Lane replied. "Roger, well, he'll never say no to a party."

* * *

_**Friday, July 9**__**th**__**, 1965. 10:12 p.m.**_

"Honestly, I have to thank these men and women here." Rockefeller said with a smile. "They have been so good to me. What is a politician without his people?" He chuckled and so did many in the fully filled office floor. "Elections are coming up soon, and I pray that all of you make the right decisions this year. Our partnership has not been for a long while yet, but I'm sure it will last until the end of my career. To Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. The best damn agency, in all of New York." Everyone in the room raised their glasses in cheers, and drank heartily. Don walked up and shook Nelly's outstretched hand.

"To the election. May it bring, fruitful results." He smiled his usual fake smile. Once again, the room resounded with clinking glasses and laughter.

Joan was dressed in a gorgeous deep red dress with matching red gloves. They complimented her hair and perfectly layered make-up without compare. All eyes were on her, and she knew it. Just as Joan knew this, so did Greg. He was dressed in a white dinner jacket, and looked dapper that evening. He clung close to his wife and honed off any impending poachers.

Ken looked well-dressed too, sporting a new leisure coat and slacks. Cynthia was wrapped around his arm as Joan and Greg approached them.

"Woaw Joan, aren't you a marvel tonight." Ken smiled.

"Why thank you Mr. Cosgrove. Of course your wife beats me in looks." Joan turned her attention to Cynthia, who blushed and squeaked out.

"Why thank you Joan."

"She does look very pretty." Greg added. Ken looked over to Greg and began,

"I don't believe we've met. Ken Cosgrove."

"Greg Harris. You know my missus."

"Indeed I do!"

Michael Falco pushed the office doors open and they swung with vigor in his wake. He was ready to show off. With a new silver suit from Henry Signer and a week's paycheck down, he waltzed in, Wayfarers on and all. The secretaries turned to watch him as he flashed his teeth. Rave On by Buddy Holly was playing in the background and Mike was getting the rave looks he was hoping for. He walked up to the group of friends congregating in the hall.

"Evening ladies and gents." He flung his arm over Ken's back who did the same.

"Aren't you looking like a fresh million." Ken laughed.

"I thought I did." Mike replied. Joan gave him a cocky grin and said,

"Must have bought that suit today Mike: Haven't seen you wearing it before."

"I thought it was time I started spending like they do on Madison Ave. I think it worked out well."

"It does, I like the colour." She grinned further at him and he returned it. There was a moment of silence, broken by Cynthia speaking up.

"I'm going to get a drink, I'll be back honey." She walked slowly away.

"So Greg, when are you leaving again? Joan tells me this return is only temporary." Ken inquired.

"Most likely this time next week unfortunately, Not nearly enough time as I would have liked." Roger walked through the crowd of people and made his way into the friendly group.

"Joannie, Greg." He shook Greg's hand and stepped back. "Glad to see you could make it." He turned to Ken and Mike. "Ken, Mike. Glad to see you're here. Quite the turn out hey?"

"Yeah, more than I thought." Ken replied.

"I'm sure Lane will be happy with the donation boxes, I think it's overflowing already." He smiled slightly, when suddenly Greg cut him off.

"Speaking of which, I have an announcement to make."

"Oh?" Roger grinned slyly. Joan turned to face her husband. She was worried he knew something, and for a moment a wave of panic swept over her.

"This next week, I'm taking Joan to the Bahamas for a vacation." Everyone cheered and raised their glasses.

"I'll drink to that!" Roger was nearly yelling. Joan was in awe and stood still.

"Aren't you happy hunny?" Greg demanded.

"Of course… I'm just very surprised that's all." She looked at her heels and began thinking. Roger put his arm around Greg and said,

"This man, is a great man, taking his wife out like that. A true husband."

Mike had had enough: he took a swig of his tequila straight, and pushed it onto a nearby table afterwards. "I better go" he muttered. "Congratulations Joan." He turned swiftly and pushed through the crowd, making his way towards a far open space by the lunchroom. Joan's heart began hurting again and she could feel tears coming on. To her, something didn't add up though. Greg and she were broke, it was a definite fact. Where did he get the money from? Why all of the sudden? It began clicking after a while, and she pulled Greg aside into an office, shutting the door.

"Greg, don't lie to me. Where did you get the money for this trip?" Her tone was agitated and he could sense it.

"I had it saved up from a while back, I thought, why not?"

"Do not lie to me Gregory Harris. I do our bills, you have no extra accounts." His eyes widened and he began stumbling into his words and biting the end of each sentence.

"Uh.. well… I j-just don't want you to be mad Joannie."

"Then tell me right now, where did you get the money."

"R-Roger gave it to me."

"Roger gave it to you?" Her tone was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes he did."

She said nothing for a moment than ran her hands over her face and looked towards his feet, then up to his head again. "You're giving him back the money."

"Why!" Greg was now on the verge of anger.

"Because Greg, Roger just wants self-satisfaction knowing that I owe him for something. I know his games better than most and this reeks of shit." Greg backed down: his wife never swore, almost for any reason.

"Fine Joan. You couldn't just let your pride bite the dust for once?" He began leaving the room when she grabbed his arm.

"Don't talk about my pride. This is about Roger Sterling's pride, not mine. I'm just not willing to inflate his insatiable ego." She released her grip and Greg left the office.

Mike was standing alone in the lunchroom when Peggy walked in, grabbing a soda from the fridge.

"Hey Mike, why aren't you out there?" she inquired.

"Not really feeling it right now." He shifted his arms and said, "I hear Stan asked you out." Peggy's eyes widened in horror: Mike laughed and continued, "Don't worry; I'm the only one who knows. I'm happy for you Peggs. That takes some guts."

She smiled. 'Thanks Mike. That means a lot coming from you. I see a certain redhead is choked up about you right now."

Mike's gaze went from the ceiling to Peggy's rosy face. "She's pouting. A girl knows. I hear they're going on a trip."

"To the Bahamas." He added. "I bet it'll be nice there."

"Look, I may not understand your situation completely, but I know what love feels like, and I know how much it can hurt. God only knows how much it hurts. You got yourself into a very bad situation, there is no doubt. If you ever want to talk, as that's all you really can do now, I am here for you."

"Thanks Peggy."

She smiled quaintly, and left the lunchroom, hop stepping to the music. Mike was left alone with his thoughts for a moment. He turned to face the cabinets where he grabbed a glass from a top shelf. As he set it down, he could hear stiletto footsteps approaching him from behind. He breathed in deeply and heard the womanly voice speak.

"Michael."

"Hello Joannie." He replied, pouring himself a drink. "Can I get you something?"

She walked up slowly behind him, "I'm fine thank you." Michael's eyes never left the glass, until Joan pulled his jaw towards her with her index finger. "We're not going on the trip." She stated.

"Really? It sounded like quite the adventure." His voice was monotonous and callous.

"Don't be like that. You know what this is like for me." She turned in sadness.

"I do, I know it's hard. It's hard for me too." He admitted, sipping scotch. After he had taken a sip, he looked towards the entryway: no one was around. He leaned over and kissed Joan lightly, then pulled away.

"We'll understand one day." Mike said.

"Sooner than later" she muttered. Before Michael could reply, Roger walked into the lunchroom, drunk more or less.

"Getting drinks are we?"

"I got mine, I had better go." Mike said. Joan grabbed his arm.

"No, you stay. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf anyway." She smiled slyly

"Ooo certainly not little red riding hood over here." He commented. "Oh, and have fun on your vacation, I'm sure you'll need the time away." Roger smiled broadly.

"Unfortunately we won't be going." Joan stated. Roger looked perplexed.

"Oh?" with that she took the check from her purse in an envelope and outstretched it to Roger.

"Thank you, but no thank you." He stood silent and unmoving, looking at the envelope.

"… Why Joannie?"

"I don't take handouts. Especially from you, Roger. Go put your money into something else. Maybe buy Jane something with it."

Roger grasped the letter and said, "I would call this ungrateful if…" Joan cut him off

"It would be ungrateful if not for all your stunts Roger. How blind do you think I am? Go meddle in someone else's business. Mike, I'll see you out there." She leaned over and kissed Michael on the cheek: who was blown away by the gesture. He nearly froze dead and looked over to Sterling, who stood silently. Joan waltzed away and left the lunchroom with flair.

"You be careful kid." He pointed straight to Mike. "I could blow the whistle on your whole operation at any time." He threatened.

"What operation."

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter. I know damn well what you're up to." Roger's tone was rising.

"Then do it?" he paused for effect. "Why don't you go tell Greg, right now? Tell him what you suspect I'm up to. Joan will convince him otherwise, in which case, you lose, and she never speaks to you again. Second possibility: he believes you, and breaks up with Joan leaving her to me, and you two never speaking again. You lose Roger. Just accept it." Mike said with a cocky smile.

"That's too bad. I guess you can have my seconds." Roger laughed. "Well thirds, actually, if you count our old creative guy Paul Kinzie. They had a thing back in the day. Oh wait! Fourth's, adding on some Jewish guy she dated for a while, can't forget him."

"You're just a wretch." Mike spat on the ground beside himself as his face contorted in anger. "A gutless, good for nothing, rich, arrogant, heartless sonofabitch who deserves to be alone."

"You watch your mouth kid. I'm the boss around here, I can send you packing whenever I want."

"It's my turn Roger. You're the boss? Oh really. So Don runs creative, I get that. Pete heads the accounts. Good for him. Lane counts up all our numbers and makes sure we aren't over spending, and then, there's you. Roger Sterling: the washed up millionaire, with nothing better to do but drink himself silly in his office and ruin other people lives. Bert Cooper does more for this company than you, and he doesn't even work here!" Mike laughed with his drink swaying in front of him.

Roger lunged towards Mike and grabbed him by the collar, nearly grunting in anger as he snorted out,

"You're finished. DO YOU HEAR ME, FINISHED." Roger yelled. Mike pushed his hand down off his collar.

"Then fire me, grandpa. First, you'll have to get through Pete. That should be pretty easy, as he hates me and everyone else who works at this fine establishment. Then you'll have to get through Don, who may not adore me, but is in love with my ideas. Then get through Lane, who quite likes me actually and really appreciates the 12% boost I've brought to this Titanic of a company. So yes, good luck Roger Sterling. Fire me. Oh and by the way, Joan likes me best." A cocky, alcohol induced smile crossed Michael's lips.

Roger Sterling brought his fist up to his shoulder and cranked Mike square in the jaw. Mike flew back into a table and tumbled to the floor. He was surprised by Roger's strength, but was not outmatched. Quickly he stabilized himself and brought his fists up to a fighting stance. Roger did the very same. Mike began moving towards Roger, and then jumped into him pushing by the hips and smashing him into the cabinets which tumbled open, spilling glasses everywhere. Shattered glass began littering the floor.

Roger jabbed Mike in the back with his elbows as Mike punched Roger in the gut repeatedly. Eventually the jabs slowed and stopped altogether and Roger crumpled a bit. Mike dropped him onto the floor, where Roger kicked his legs out and Mike fell down. Don ran around the corner, along with other associates to see what the fuss was about. Roger and Mike both hopped up and smoked each other in the face once or twice before Don's booming voice stopped them.

"That is ENOUGH." Both men ceased fighting. Mike wiped blood from his lower lip as Roger cleaned his forehead of the red goo.

"Just solving some differences Don." Roger gasped for air. "Me and the kid just had some... talking to do." He smiled.

"This is an office party damnit. Not a bar brawl. Act like adults, both of you."

Mike stood motionless and recovered his breath. Roger staggered up, looking back from Mike to Don.

"Get cleaned up, and for God's sake, no more fighting." Don left the room angry and embarrassed.

"You got fight old man." Mike sighed. Roger felt slightly respected for the first time in a while and looked over to him.

"You too kid. Didn't think I'd go down that hard." He laughed once and then clutched his ribs in pain. Mike staggered out of the lunchroom, with a bunch of girls watching. Only a dozen people had heard the ordeal; the music was too loud in the other hall. Jane, Roger's wife, ran to his side and helped him up.

"Are you okay sweetie?"

* * *

Mike stood quietly in the bathroom, looking himself in the mirror. He had some bruises on his jaw and a few cuts and scrapes littered his forehead and high cheeks. It was a pretty clean fight in his record. He felt accomplished, finally standing up to Roger Sterling. Deep down, he regretted it. Fighting was never an answer for him, no matter how much the person deserved it. "I should have walked away." Mike muttered. The bathroom door swung open and Joan walked in, a bewildered look covering her face.

"What on earth, do you think you're doing." She demanded.

"Blowing off some steam." Mike ran some warm water over his face. His cuts began stinging.

"Michael, this is an office party. You can't go beating someone up over things…"

"Things they say about someone you love? He threw the first punch. I was tired of being stepped on. He had it coming."

"That may be so, but he is still your boss." She retorted. Joan walked up beside him and held a cloth covered in water to his head.

"I'd gladly, lose my job any day, for the things he said about you."

"He was just trying to get make you mad, that's what he does. I'm sure he didn't expect you'd bite back." She smiled slightly.

"Nice idea, poorly executed." He mumbled. Joan again turned his face towards hers.

"Don't do it again. Seeing you hurt makes me sick." There was a pause, and then Mike leaned in, kissing her once again. She kissed him passionately and clutched his chest as he held her. It last a long while before she pulled away.

"I have to go back out there; they'll wonder where I am. Behave Mikey." She smiled coyly, and left the bathroom. Mike watched her leave, and then meandered towards the far wall, where he slumped down onto the floor.

"Thank God it's Friday." he laughed loudly


	15. Chapter 15- The Aftermath

_**Chapter 15:**_

**Monday, July 5****th****, 1965, The Blue Lagoon Bar**

Don was shocked into submission as he observed the woman before him. He hadn't seen Katy Konstantine in 20 years, and she certainly wasn't the little troublemaking young girl he remembered.

"Dick! Are you listening?" she snapped her fingers in front of his face. Don finally clicked out of his stupor.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I was just thinking."

"What have you been up to? We all thought you were gone! Why didn't you come back? Are you married? You must be by now, I mean with all the popularity you had in school." She smiled bashfully.

"I was married… I have three kids. We divorced a little while back, anyway what about you? What do you do?"

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that… well, I'm a professor at the university, I have a doctorate in psychology."

"That's great, I'm happy for you. Are you married?" he inquired, attempting to avoid subjects.

"No, I just got out of a relationship actually… I came here to party for the first time in a while." Katy looked into her glass and drank slowly. "Why did you introduce yourself as Don?"

"I changed my name a while back. I felt like I needed to start fresh." Don took a sip of his drink and set it down. "You know, I work at an advertising agency downtown here." He smiled.

"Oh, alright, Don then. Wow, that sounds prestigious." she smiled.

"It's entertaining to say the least." He smiled back.

"So how are you these days, emotionally I mean?" she asked him.

"I'm good: Living day by day. That's all you really can do in my situation." He took another sip of the drink. "And you?"

"I'm doing well. Recovering from the break up I had, but other than that I'm getting better." She said happily.

"Cheers" Don said, "To new beginnings." Katy raised her glass and brought it Don's.

From behind him, Katy's friend was waving her over urgently. She noticed her, and stood up from her bar stool.

"I'm happy to see you're alive and well, I have to go, but I think we should meet up sometime, perhaps next week? Here is my number." She scratched it out on a cocktail napkin and handed it to him. "It was great to see you… Don." She promptly left him to his thoughts and wonders.

* * *

**Saturday, July 10****th****, 1965**

"Wow isn't this new place nice!" Francine said as she walked through the Francis' front entryway. "I really like the decor!"

"It isn't much, but I enjoy being here." Betty smiled as she took Francine's coat and hung it on the standalone hanger.

"How are the parties up here? Met any nosy neighbors yet?"

"Who do you think I am, Liz Taylor?" Betty laughed joyously.

"Just wondering!" Francine gawked. "So how are the kids with all this." She took a seat on the long sofa.

"Bobby is alright. He doesn't talk much about it, he's more interested in Science Fiction Theater and his action figures." Betty sat down beside Francine. "Sally, well she was much more open about how much she hated me for making her move." Betty frowned.

"Oh Betty, I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure Sally will understand it all one day right?"

"I hope so." The tone in her voice conveyed pessimism: Francine switched tracks.

"So how is Henry? I hear the elections are coming up soon!"

"Well, he's very busy... He's away often."

"Uh, oh, that doesn't sound good." Francine lit up a cigarette and puffed away.

"He doesn't really have a choice; I mean he has to be beside the Governor at all times."

"Right. You know, I hear that Don's company is running the whole campaign for Rockefeller." Francine mused. Betty paused as she lit her cigarette.

"Really… Are you sure? Henry didn't say anything about it… How did you find out?" her eyes widened

"Carlton was telling me, he heard it from some buddies at work!" She pulled a drag on the cigarette. Betty looked at the floor and then moved her eyes slowly.

"I see." She refrained from looking at her best friend.

"Speaking of Don how is he? Drowning alone without you?" she laughed heartily. Betty didn't share the same enthusiasm.

"He's doing well I'm sure." She trailed off. "He doesn't have anyone… yet, or that I know of."

"Good! He should suffer!

"Yeah, I guess so." She muttered quietly.

"What's wrong with you? Cat got your tongue about this all of the sudden? Pangs of sympathy and regret?" Francine turned to Betty and dug in with her questions.

"No… we had a meeting though. To discuss the kids and what was going on in our lives."

"Oh? And how did that go?" Francine butted her cigarette.

"It was nice to talk about the kids, and make sure everything was stable with him. It's good to know that things are settling down. It was very pleasant…" she trailed off.

"What happened?" Francine demanded.

"Why are you so suspicious?" Betty bit back at her.

"Because you're acting like this! You're so edgy."

"…You couldn't tell a soul about this. Not even the girls at the tea club. No one Francine." Betty bit her lower lip.

The other woman's eyes widened and glinted with the hope of a young child, about to receive a reward.

"I swear on my life Betty."

"Alright… The night I went to meet Don… I guess I was… being unfaithful…" Betty was squirming where she sat, but she was containing herself.

"Unfaithful… how far are we talking?" Francine was glued.

"Divorce unfaithful." Her voice was unwavering. Francine's jaw dropped.

"Betty… you didn't."

"It was a onetime thing, I just got so caught up in the moment.. And you know how Don is. He can be enticing with his words. He leads you into a false sense of security."

"Oh Betty Draper Francis" Francine smiled cockily.

"None of that." She looked seriously into her friends eyes.

"Fine. You be careful though, it'll keep happening if you let it."

"No, it couldn't." she paused a moment. "Right?"

* * *

Everyone at the office was on their toes for the proceeding weeks. With most of their money poured into Rockefeller's campaign, they didn't have much time to look far outside companies, but a few small business approached them wanting help, and the unstable tower reached far to help themselves.

Don had arrived early on the bright and shining Tuesday morning to get a lot of work done. Joan walked into his office with a quick step. She was wearing an off-white dress with a large gold clasp in the midsection. Don was in a blue business suit, and his hair was parted to the left for the first time in a while.

"Good morning Mr. Draper." She opened.

"Good morning Joan."

"The elections pre-estimation is in, and we're up by miles. I thought I'd open with some good news." She smiled.

"I hope that's not the only good news for the day." Don smiled slyly and leaned forward into his desk.

"No, we have a few other good things." She sat down with her clipboard in an adjacent chair.

"And what would those things be?"

"Well we are only 39% of our gap from lucky strike." She read further down her clipboard. "And you have a lunch with the owners of Harland and Maine at 2:00"

"Thank you kindly." Don slid out from behind his desk. "Also, I need you to take care of Roger for me."

Joan looked up from her board and read Don's eyes. "I'm not sure I follow."

"With the election coming up in two weeks or so, I need the company to be representable, reputable, and without hindrance. The rivalry between Roger and Mike is hurting our chance at success, and I can't have that. I know you've got what it takes Joan." He winked at her gently.

"I do my best." She smiled slightly and stood from the chair. "Is there anything else?"

"No, that's all." Don looked down to his work and began writing. Joan exited the office quietly and began towards Roger's office.

Roger was sitting with an air of assurance on his white couch resting in the corner of his brightly lit office. He was leaned back, with a glass of water in his hand. He sipped it slowly and stood when he heard a knock at the door. Roger pulled the handle and Joan was surprised to see him standing to greet her.

"Oh… Roger... Could I speak with you for a moment?" She said in her mouse-like way. He said nothing but waved her in. She walked and stood by his desk, posing in a slight lean.

"What can I do for you Joannie?" He muttered and walked over to his chair, sitting down and reclining.

"You can't keep up this rivalry with Michael, Roger. It's childish, and especially now that we are on the scene for everyone in New York, the spotlight is on us. A Mr.…" she glanced down at her notepad and looked up. "Henry Francis is coming from the Governor's Office to visit. No quips, no arguments, no nothing against anyone. You're on my watch now."

"I don't mind that." He smiled and sipped the water. "Alright, I'll play along. On one condition." He tipped the glass towards her.

"And what is that?" Joan raised her eyebrows and scoffed slightly.

"That you accompany me to lunch." He said in a cheesy British accent.

"I think I can manage that." She said regretfully. "No games though."

"None at all!" he laughed. "Long as I am on your watch."

* * *

Henry Francis had just taken a seat in his leather studded chair when his phone began ringing. He creased his lip and sighed in annoyance. Reaching over methodically he picked up the receiver.

"Henry Francis." The line was silent for a moment and then a familiar voice began speaking.

"Henry, this is Nelly." The voice was chipper and upbeat. Henry looked out the window and began speaking happily to cover his boredom.

"Mr. Rockefeller, How are you?"

"I told you none of that "Mr. Rockefeller" garbage. Its Nelly to you son. Anyway, I was supposed to go for a meeting at our advertising agency this afternoon but I can't make it, and I was wondering if you could go see it. Perhaps get yourself acquainted with who we are partnered with."

Henry looked down at his afternoon and saw a two hour gap between meetings. He responded. "Yes, I could do that. Where is the agency?

"I don't know the exact address but I'm sure you could ask you secretary for it. Anyway, just make sure everything is going according to schedule."

"Alright, See you soon."

"Bye now." The line went dead. Henry slumped down into his chair and called for his secretary.

The black Lincoln limousine pulled up out front of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce and the driver exited the front, walking slowly to the back, opening the door for Mr. Francis to step out. The sunlight bathed the street in a hot, hot heat as Henry left the safety of the car and began walking into the building. The glass doors swung open and a multitude of people poured out, obscuring his view of the signage. He pushed through the crowd and made his way to the large steel elevators. He wasn't too fond of them, but didn't see much choice he had, considering it was 34 floors up.

Once he arrived at the floor, he marched through the main doors and made his way to the receptionist.

"Henry Francis here, on behalf of Governor Rockefeller."

The timid thin woman looked up at him and smiled shyly.

"Of course sir, just one moment while I let them know you're here." She leaned over to an intercom and paged. "Mrs. Harris, Henry Francis is here." There was a quick silence followed by, "I'll be right out."

Joan swung open the large oak doors and made way for him.

"Welcome to the firm." She smiled and he returned the glance. Their walk was brief but in that short time, Henry did as best he could to lap information.

"So who will I be meeting with?" he inquired.

"Well I'm sure you'll meet all of the partners today, they all have a stake in this venture and are pleased to know you are here. I don't think I alerted Don though…" she muttered to herself. "Anyway they are all waiting in the board room."

"So who runs the show then? I mean they all work together, but say I want to know where the ideas come from, who do I look to?"

Joan noticed Henry was being pushy and she held slight resentment.

"You'll just have to wait and see Mr. Francis." Henry backed off in retreat and kept quiet until they entered the boardroom. Roger was the first to approach Henry with an outstretched hand.

"Roger Sterling, it's a pleasure to meet you." He smiled and sat back down.

"Pleasure." Henry smiled. "I can seem to remember my wife talking about a Roger Sterling. Sort of fits your description."

"Really? Maybe I know her."

"Betty? Francis of course." Roger went pale and stayed standing as Henry made his way to Pete. He could see Don exiting his office and moving towards the main room. Don caught his eyes through the glass and noticed Roger shaking his head at him.

"Pete Campbell, I work the accounts here." Henry moved over once again

"I'm Bert and I don't really know what I do here anymore." Henry laughed with everyone else as he sat down.

"Lane Pryce, I manage the financials here."

"Is that everyone then?" he mused. Joan replied, "One more, and he's just walking in." Henry Francis turned to face the swinging doors just as Donald Draper pushed through them. For a moment he stopped, and looked Henry in the eyes. They were both awestruck and made no move for a handshake. Don spoke first.

"Donald Draper." He extended his hand limply. Henry said nothing and shook it slowly. Don walked to the far head of the table, sat down and lit a cigarette. Henry's pale face was still distorted as he sat down in the leather chair.

"Are you alright Mr. Francis?" Joan asked.

"Yes, quite fine... Thank you."

Pete spoke a majority of the meeting with Roger and Bert shooting in a few words here and there. It was mostly just for reassurance on the company's side that all they had planned was going ahead smoothly. From what Pete had said, Henry was pleased, but visibly shaken the whole time. Don didn't say a word: He just sat smoking his cigarette and made all moves possible to avoid speaking. Doodling on a piece of paper was his main course of action.

* * *

Peggy Olson was sitting at her secretary's desk chatting with the girls as Don was enduring hell 30 feet away. Her date the previous night had intrigued more than just a few gossiping minds. What else was there for secretaries to do?

"So did you two kiss?" Gisele jumped.

"Yes" the girls Oooo'd. "But only for a moment! I'm not that kind of girl." They laughed quietly. "What did you guys eat?" Cindy asked.

"Lobster Thermidor and sautéed onions. It was very nice, very _haut class_" Peggy replied in a terrible French accent.

"Lucky you, I'm good if I get Kraft Macaroni and Cheese." Peggy smiled and replied. "Well I'm sure one day I'll be standing right with you."

Down the hall, Michael Falco barged through the oak doors in a flurry. He had posters under his arms and his briefcase barely clinging to the fingers of his right hand. Ideas were swirling in his head and he had a million things to write down. A wide smile breached his lips. Peggy saw him approaching and began,

"Michael! What's with the gear?"

"Just have lots to work on. I got word from Lincoln" he winked. Peggy smiled and stood from the swivel chair.

"And?" she said in excited anticipation.

"They're willing."

"We'll have to let Don know!"

Joan Harris was walking out of the meeting and down the hall when Mike waved to her as she approached and she timidly waved back.

"How are you." He smiled.

"I'm fine…" she seemed slightly awkward. The uneasiness set off alarms in Michael's brain and he suddenly had a painful feeling in his stomach.

"That's good, How's the office holding up?" Joan looked down the hall and out the window when she replied with,

"Oh it's good… I don't mean to be rude, but I just have a lot on my mind. I'll see you soon okay?" she mumbled.

"Oh... alright." Mike's stomach seized. She waved half-heartedly and began walking away.

"Mike?" Peggy snapped. "Mike!" she waved in front of his face. "Are you alright"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking. Always thinking." He muttered.


	16. Chapter 16- Dick Whitman, Boy Wonder

**Chapter 16: Dick Whitman, Boy Wonder**

It was 11:30 when Peggy Olson and Michael Falco walked into Don Draper's office. Don was reading a magazine quietly and looked up slowly when they shut the door.

"Well, what is it?" he muttered.

"We got word back from Lincoln." Peggy said happily. Don put the magazine on his desk and searched her eyes for the answer.

"And?" he added.

"They said they would be interested in seeing what we have to say." An ecstatic looked formed itself on Don's normally complacent face.

"Well this is good news." He smiled.

"Indeed." Mike inputted.

"Where did you hear it from?" Don inquired.

Mike quipped, "I went to the headquarters in Dearborn a few days back, and ran across Danny Crossman, CEO of Lincoln. He said he'd be willing to sit in and listen to our pitch since he had heard we're running Governor Rockefeller's campaign. I said give us two weeks and we'd be in touch."

"What have you got so far?"

Peggy jumped in at this point, "We're going with the gentleman's family car. Lincoln has a reputation more so like Cadillac than to Ford." Mike kicked,

"Something like "Lincoln, The Gentleman's Car." blah blah, explanations and such. They need to clear cut the family market but still appear upper class. It's tough to do that, but we're going to attempt something along those lines."

"Not bad. Refine it though; you could really slap that on any car. Make it something that only Lincoln owners can enjoy, like a club or something. Anyway, we have two weeks to get this together then. Mike, Peggy, since you two wanted this account, and got us a way in, it's yours. Get me the ideas, the pictures, the commercials, put it to together and show me what you've got. You know where to find me." He leaned back, seemingly self-satisfied and began reading the magazine once again. Peggy stood up from the chair, along with Mike and they smiled to each other.

"Lunch?" Peggy asked as they walked out the door.

Don Draper was feeling satisfied with his decision. They had really pulled their weight lately, and he was thinking of throwing some sort of thank you party for them. Then his mind wandered to The Blue Lagoon the previous week and Katy Konstantine. In the top drawer of his desk was the cocktail napkin she had wrote her name on. Sliding the drawer open, he hesitated a moment, and grabbed it slowly reading out the number. Don pulled the phone closer to him and began dialing the number. The tone rang through three times before someone picked up the receiver.

"Hey, this is Katy." She sounded happy.

"Hi Katy, This is Don."

"Don! I was wondering when I was going to hear from you!"

"Yes, well, sorry for the delay, I've just been busy. How are you?"

"I'm well thanks, just been doing a lot of cleaning. How are you?"

"I'm well, just working off these past few week, getting ready for the election and such."

"Must be stressful" she acknowledged.

"Yes. And that's why I was wondering if you'd like to go out to Valentino's on Broadway. I'd pay of course: To catch up on things was my thought."

"I would, yes that sounds quite fun, when?"

"Perhaps tomorrow night?"

"I'm free so I'll meet you there?"

"Sure. See you then."

"Bye!" she hung up the phone. Don reclined in the chair. Memories slowly slid back into his mind of his childhood before working the farm. The days spent at school, really learning all he could. The friends he had back then. He stood from his chair and leaned over to the window, lighting a cigarette.

* * *

**April, 1935**

"Dick!" he heard a voice screaming from behind him. "Dick Whitman!" he turned to see who was hollering across the playground. The short but pretty Katy was standing nearest the playground sandbox and waving towards him. A smile crossed Dick's face and he marched in his overalls and boots over to the girl.

"Yeah, whatya need?"

"It's recess! We have to do something exciting!" she smiled.

"W-Why do we have to do that?" Dick became nervous and his voice stuttered.

"Because I say so, and I'm a girl, you have to do what I say." Katy affirmed pridefully.

"Alright. What are we gonna do then?" he sat down on the ridge of the sandbox looking into the sea of beige.

"I dunno… We could build a sandcastle?" she asked. Dick leaned into the warm sand with his hands and felt it rush between his fingertips. The first few inches were fairly hot to the touch but as he dug down, it cooled until wet sand clung to him.

"I guess, but we always do that." He muttered. "And Ms. Marpole wouldn't like us being all dirty."

"Why do you care what Ms. Marpole says. Aren't you your own man Mr. Richard Whitman?" Katy crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back, looking quite authoritative.

"Well yes... and no.. I mean… it's just… well…."

"If Ms. Marpole told you to rob a bank, would ya?"

"No of course I wouldn't! That's dangerous!" Dick was frightened at even the thought.

"And if Ms. Marpole told you to jump off a bridge, would ya?" He slowly was catching onto her plan.

"Okay! Okay! You don't have to be silly; I wouldn't do it, jeeez."

"So why can't we get a little dirty! Why would she even care?" Katy mused.

"Yeah… I guess you're right."

"Of course I am. How about we… climb that tree!" she said excitedly, pointing to a large tree bordering the lot of the schoolyard.

"The big oak tree?"

"The big oak tree."

"But Ms. Marpole…"

Katy mimicked his childish accent, "But Ms. Marpole blahblahblah. We're gonna go climb that tree!"

Dick replied in horror, "No! I don't wanna hurt myself!"

"You aren't gonna hurt yourself! You've got me protecting you! I'll save you, and plus, you're a strong kid!" Dick smiled at her near backhanded compliment.

"Okay… but you go first."

"Fine by me!" she exclaimed. They both began walking towards the tree, Katy with dominance and Dick a scared pup keeping up the rear. It wasn't long before they were underneath the sprawling branches of the tree, and looking up to the heavens.

"Suddenly I changed my mind." Dick began walking away, but as soon as he spun, Katy grabbed his arm and spun him back.

"No. Backing. Down." She pierced in a dead serious tone. Dick was frozen in fear and some sort of resounding excitement. Katy moved towards the tree and put her foot against the coarse bark, jumping off the ground and grabbing for a low set branch. She clung onto it and walked up the tree with her other legs until she reached horizontal. A thicker branch was just above her, and so she threw herself to the next one, followed by another, until finally she had reached the thick of the tree. Dick looked up and shuddered at height.

"Katy… I dunno if this is a good idea….."

"Just do it! You promised!" the air whistled through the gap in her front teeth.

"Fine." Dick walked up to the large trunk and ran the bark along his hand before stepping on the tree. He jolted up the tree and hung loosely from the first branch. His hands started slipping, so he adjusted and jumped to the higher branches, pushing off the tree. On the upper branch he began slipping once again. His hands were getting sweatier from the worry of falling and thus he slipped more and more. One hand released from the tree and he yelped. Katy reached down and grabbed his arm, pulling him up to sit with her. He smiled and said,

"Thank you."

"Anytime." Katy leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. Dick turned bright red and he shrunk in embarrassment. They looked out onto the playground as watched as all the other children were frolicking about, and as quickly as recess began, Ms. Marpole rang the ending bell

* * *

"So how is Greg?" Roger asked, pushing part of a bun into his mouth. He began chewing as Joan looked up from her coffee and replied,

"He's alright. He's depressed about going back to the frontline. Other than that, he's good."

"No doubt. I remember those days. I'm sure he'll be alright though. Kids strong. He'll do good."

"Yes, I guess he will." Joan took a sip of coffee. "And how is the maiden of the mansion?"

"She's good. Bred in that sort of life though, so she's already getting bored of being cooped up. I'm sure she's made some friends on the block, although they're most likely all ancient relics."

Joan laughed for the first time in a long while in front of Roger. He smiled in realization of that, and continued, "I'm sorry for fighting Mike. I know it was childish, and young hearted of me."

"Good. You know how I feel about that. I'm glad you agree."

"Yes, and I'd like to make it up to you. I want to give you two some money…" Joan quickly cut him off.

"Roger, you know I can't accept your money."

"Look I want to give you something, okay? It's a sorry and a thank you. It's under a company directive so it looks legitimate to everyone else. Please Joannie?"

"Alright. If it's too much I'll give some back though." She drank some more of the coffee. A wide smile breached Roger's lips.

"Good, I'll give it to you once we get back."

Peggy and Michael were trudging down the hot pavement towards the Dairy Queen on 32nd. It was a long walk from the office, but Mike figured he needed the exercise. The sun was beating through his sunglasses and blinded him at some points. Peggy muttered,

"How close are we?"

"Just a few more blocks." He replied. "I'll buy you an extra sundae if you shut up." Mike laughed with what little breath he had left.

"Hey!" Peggy scoffed. "I'm the one in a black shirt and skirt! What about you Mr. white shirt and beige slacks."

"Hey, I came weather equipped." He smiled and Peggy laughed. As they were crossing the threshold of the main street, Don noticed a woman sitting in the window of the restaurant opposite the street. She was sipping coffee with an older gentleman in his 50s. Suddenly their eyes crossed paths and Mike recognized her. He held her gaze as he walked across the street. Joan felt an air of uneasiness as she observed Mike. She felt like he was looking through her. Roger kept on talking without realizing that Joan hadn't heard a word he said. His voice was a distant hum compared the clash of thought raging in her mind.

Peggy too was talking to Mike and he heard nothing too. Just another distant hum, that was, until she brought Joan into the subject.

"… so what about Joan?" Peggy looked into Mike's eyes, seeing through the dark shade of the Wayfarers. He looked back

"What about Joan?"

"Oh, I wonder what you and Roger were fighting about, creative differences, perhaps?"

"She has her life to worry about now. Priorities shift, life takes you for a ride. Roger and I were just butting heads and getting angry. Being boys, as you girls would say. Nothing really to it. I'm sure I'll apologize and we'll move on."

"Well that's not the way she sees it?"

"And by that, you mean?" Mike leaned over to her.

"Joan is very off since the fight. Just talk to her. No girl should be like that, especially the head of operations."

"I guess you're right." Mike looked off into the sun.

* * *

Gregory Harris was driving his '56 Studebaker Commander convertible with the top down and the tunes blaring. He had his brown hair slicked back and his aviators tight to his face. He had another pleasant day off and was going shopping at Menken's, looking for something for Joannie, especially after their fight last night. It was around noon everyday he went to work out, and walk around town, since he wouldn't be seeing much of it for a while. The traffic was fairly thick for the early afternoon. 32nd street was abuzz with shoppers and drivers alike. As he pulled the car up to the red light, he caught a glimpse of Peggy Olson, and Michael walking across the street. He felt indifferent really but had an odd gut feeling when he was around Michael. Just something that set him uneasy. As he drove across the street, he peered into the building beside him and saw his wife, in a light pink dress sitting at a table, alone. He smiled for a moment and pulled the car to the curb, watching her from the outside. She hadn't noticed him yet. As he put the car into part and pulled the e-brake, he watched as Roger Sterling walked up to Joan and invited her to stand. She stood promptly, received his peck on the cheek and she slid over petticoat over her shoulder.

Greg was overtaken by a moment of rage, realizing he had been tricked by Roger. It was never Mike he had to worry about. It was just a delay tactic for himself. Greg was putting all the pieces together: he had ample time, opportunity and means, he had the history, the attitude, the motive, and he even had the fall guy. Greg pounded his fists into the steering wheel. The horn beeped and he slammed the gearbox and dropped the brake. The car jerked out into traffic and he began speeding home.

* * *

Joan Harris walked into her apartment to the reeking smell of alcohol. She sighed in contempt and threw her coat upon the rack, and removed he heels. Greg was sprawled out on the couch, his shirt stained with rum and his face looking sick. She was becoming more and more enraged as she looked around the room to see nothing was done.

"I see you didn't do anything today." She muttered. As Joan made her way into the room, Greg moved up from his slouch.

"I see…. No… I guess I didn't."

"And why is that?" she questioned bitterly.

"Cuz' I was drinking. I was drinking because of you." Joan was taken aback by his words. A pang filed her stomach.

"Why because of me?"

"I know Joannie. I know now. I saw, I get it. I know what you've been doing while I was away." She produced a blank stare from his gaze. Guilt overcame her heart and she nearly began crying, but before she could manage to, he blurted out, "Roger Sterling." Suddenly the guilt went away and she felt old anger again.

"What about him?"

"I know you been going around with him, on dates and stuff."

"Oh really?" Joan laughed sarcastically.

"Yeah really, I saw you two today at the Diner on 32nd? You were smooching with him. I saw"

"Oh please Greg, spare me! It was a polite peck from a boss to his employee, nothing more."

"Nothing more my ass!" he grunted.

"Are you questioning me?" Now Joan was getting very angry.

"Yes, I am. You and Roger have had a thing while I was gone."

"Roger Sterling is, A) married to a woman much younger than me, and B) cut off from those relations years ago, I vowed never to return. I've kept that promise. I didn't make it to you, I made it to myself."

Greg began mumbling to himself incoherently but Joan could make out a few cusses here and there.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said you're a lyin bitch." He splurged. Joan's face turned bright pink and she pulled her hand far behind her back and walloped on his face. Greg cried out in anguish, grabbing his cheek but in his drunken stupor retaliated, violently, clapping her in the face with his ringed fist. Joan flew back into the wall, smashing her head into a shelf and broke it. She fell like a rock to the ground, and the last thing she saw, was Greg careening about, and falling down by the window.


	17. Chapter 17- Bruises and The Bearcat

(To those of you who are anal retentive and wondering, yes I do realize that It Never Rains In Southern California, by Albert Hammond, was in fact written in 1973, not corresponding with the time period. The truth is, I don't care.)

Chapter 17: Bruises and The Bearcat

Joan awoke in the same place she had fallen. Her head was spinning and it smelled of old alcohol, which was making it worse. There was a searing pain in her jaw and the world was in slight fuzz. She could see the sun had gone down outside and it was dark in the room. There was a desk lamp alight in the far corner by the window, but other than that, much was tucked into folds of darkness. As she sat up and rubbed her eyes, Joan could see her husband, passed out in a pile of his own filth, lying against the wall. After sitting up, she made her way, crawling, to the light switch. The hall light came on and she could better see a small pool of blood on the floor where she had landed, and a broken bottle of scotch by Greg. Her vision began improving and she walked forward cautiously to see if he was awake. He was fast out.

Joan made her way quietly to the bathroom to assess the damage. What she saw shocked her, but she had expected it. Her right side had ballooned up and was purple and yellow. Her jaw wasn't broken but she did have some severe pain. The pool on the ground was from a cut near her right temple, most likely from the shelf. She wiped away the blood and cleaned up her face. Even then it was still bad. No amount of make-up was going to save her.

After getting to her room, she slipped into a light pink shirt and dark skirt. Joan slowly picked up her mother's necklace and slid it on, then it was back into the bathroom.

* * *

_Fall of 1949_

_ "Momma!" there was a silence in the room. "Mom!" Joan shouted again. Silence still clung through the walls of the spacious house. "Gail!"_

_ "Joan Patricia Holloway. How many times have I told you not to call me that." Suddenly the thin woman whisped through the opening in their living room and made her way over to her pestering daughter. "What is it dear?"_

_ "Did I do up this dress right?" She was looking into the hutch mirror and adjusting the clasps as her mother approached her. _

_ "You missed a button." Gail unclipped the clasps and began re-hooking them. Joan took time to admire her hairdo and make-up. She pouted her lips and smiled._

_ "Do I look good?" Joan asked._

_ "What a silly question sweetie, you look gorgeous." Joan creased a wider smile. "Alright, I got them all done up. Do you have everything for tonight?"_

_ "Yes, I'm all set." She turned to face her mother, and gave her a hug. "Thank you."_

_ "Of course. Anything for my girl! When is he supposed to be picking you up?"_

_ "Well he said he'd be here around seven, so I guess in 20 minutes." Joan peered out the window of the house onto the estate grounds. The lush green grass covered the soil around the wrap-around driveway and she eagerly awaited a red '32 Stutz Bearcat to roll up._

_ "So you like this boy huh?" her mother sat down on the couch with a sly smile. Joan sat down beside her, slightly embarrassed. _

_ "Yes, you could say that." She blushed._

_ "You make sure he treats you right, you hear me?" Gail wore a serious face and her daughter was stricken to attention._

_ "Why? Well I don't mean why, but I mean, why are you so worried?"_

_ "I'm not worried I just know what men are capable of. They can manipulate you into thinking things, doing things. Just be careful dear." She stood up from the chesterfield and began to walk away._

_ "What's that supposed to mean?" Joan stood up in a fuss._

_ "Nothing, I'm just saying be careful. Be confident and assertive with your words, be open, but not provocative, and be upstanding but not outsmarting. I know you can be very… hubristic at times. You show him you mean business."_

_ "Alright ma! I get it, we've gone over this before…" her mother cut her off._

_ "And don't you ever take shit from any man." Joan had never heard her mother swear before. The words caught her off-guard, put her ill at ease. "If anyone disrespects you, or hurts you, you tell them, straight up, don't be quiet. If there's one thing I want you to learn, it's never to let a man hurt you. Nobody respects someone who let's another walk all over them. There's a vast difference between caring and being the better woman, and being a downright doormat." _

_ The sound of a large engine rumbled through the air. The crush on the driveway outside crackled as the white beast rolled up between the main pillars by the front door. "Good luck my love." Her mother whispered._

* * *

Joan stared at her face in the dimly lit mirror. The bruises were becoming more prominent and as was her anger. She grabbed a few of her toiletries and pushed them into a small bag in the lower cabinet. There was a large suitcase in the closet by the front door and she quickly grabbed it and swung it open on her bed. She chose a weeks' worth of clothing and threw it into the case, along with the smaller bag and snapped the buckles down.

"And where are you going?" a low voice rumbled from behind her. A chill went up her spine as she stood. Joan lowered the suitcase in her hand and turned around. Greg was still visibly inebriated but looked more held together.

"I'm leaving here. I can't stay here until you're gone. You've got some things to sort out." she spoke with slight hesitation but also a hearty assurance. Greg took a step forward and she took a step back.

"Oh yeah? Where you gonna go? Your momma doesn't live close. You don't have no daddy."

"Shut up Greg. I have had enough of you. Just stop." He meandered into the room, crutching his legs but still walking slightly straight. Joan moved more towards the bedroom door.

"Where you gonna be." He said once again.

"Somewhere Greggy, somewhere far from here." She said sarcastically.

"Fine, you have your fun. Where can I call you then?"

"You don't call me. I'll call you." She was about to leave the room when Gregory extended his arm across her path. "And when will that be."

"God only knows." She began lowering his arm but he held resistance. "Don't do this." Joan muttered. He leaned in to kiss her but she put her hand over his mouth and pushed his face away. "And don't even think about it." He grabbed her arm like a vice grip.

"Let go of me." She said very sternly.

"And why should I?" he reeled in laughter. Suddenly the double click of a revolver hammer resounded in the quiet room.

"You shouldn't sleep with a gun under your pillow. This isn't Nam." She held up the .38 Smith & Wesson snub nose and placed it into his stomach. Greg backed off immediately. "Step into the bathroom." She muttered.

"What?" he was dazed and confused.

"Step into the bathroom, lock the door. Maybe take a shower to clean your regurgitated filth off of you."

"Joan. I can do what I want." She lowered the gun to his crotch area. "Alright I'm going!" he turned and stumbled into the bathroom.

After grabbing her coat, putting on her heels, and strapping up the suitcase she muttered two words, and stepped out into the hall. Somewhere, far away, a radio was playing, Rain Drops Are Fallin' On My Head.

"Goodbye Greg."

* * *

Michael Falco was sitting at his desk under the dim lit of his desk lamp. He was pushing together files and lining up notes on Lincoln, its buyers, and their previous sales pitches. It was a dull and boring job. He leaned over to check the time, 12:37 a.m. Peggy had left hours ago and gave him a few pointers while going through the ideas. After a while, Mike's face was planted on the desk and a small pool of drool was forming on his paper. Suddenly a slam shuddered him awake. He looked around swiftly and then stood up to investigate, walking slowly over to the main door. Another slam rang out in the halls, and Mike peered out of his office door. He could see a light down the corridor and someone rustling about.

Mike crept slowly towards the door. The sound was getting louder but it became more distinguished. It was of a woman crying. He pushed the door further and he saw Joan leaning off the edge of her desk, hands in her face.

"Joannie?" he muttered. She was startled and spun around, dropping her hands by her sides, exposing her wounded face. Mike saw the fist mark and the suitcase sitting on the chair beside her. "Oh lord…" he muttered. She stood in silence wiping her nose.

"I'm sorry Mike… I didn't mean to disturb your work… I can leave." She moved for her luggage.

"No! No, please." He ran to her and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She slowly raised her arms around his mid-section, squeezing lightly at first, and then as the flood gates opened she tightened her grip to that of a bear. They stood there for a good while, as Joan cried into his shirt and he comforted her, not knowing quite what to do. Eventually she pulled away and he released her.

"Thank you… I really needed that." She said smiling, wiping away the tears. "I'm sorry I was cold the other day. I've just been confused lately. I guess tonight was the clearing."

"Don't be. It isn't your fault, it's mine. I put too much pressure on you, and I didn't mean to. Bastard who made that mark on your face will be getting that back, tenfold instead." His smile turned to a grimace as the sentence went on.

"He was drunk…"

"It's not an excuse."

"I never said it was. I'm just saying, that he needs a time out, I hit him first."

"You had a reason. Joan Harris doesn't hit a man without reason." She laughed and replied,

"Yes, he deserved it. I guess I'll be camping out at work until he leaves." There was a dull silence in the air until Mike looked over to her and replied,

"You're always welcome… to stay with me, if you'd like. I have a cot you could sleep on, it's no trouble." Michael blushed a little bit and looked to the ceiling for his missing words. Joan looked over and smiled,

"Yeah?" she nudged.

"Of course."

"I think I'll take you up on that! Considering I'd be sleeping on a chair for 5 days." The both laughed. Joan clutched her cheek in pain, and Mike picked up her suitcase. "Let's get back home so I can get you patched up." She smiled and they walked out of the office towards the two swinging oak doors.

"Seems it never rains in southern, California, but girl don't they warn ya,"

"It pours, man it pours." She finished.

* * *

Don Draper sat quietly in the coffee bar beside Madison Square Gardens. It was quaint and well put together; a nice hearty atmosphere filled the room. Katy arrived a few minutes late in a baby blue sun dress. Don smiled as she approached and stood before she sat.

"Feeling free today, are we?" he slyly smiled.

"You could say that." She smiled back. "And you are looking very dapper as well." She commented.

"Thank you. I took the liberty of ordering us a few things. Just to pass some time."

"Excellent! I'm starved."

"Good." There was a short pause as the waiter delivered their drinks.

"Well when you left in the 4th grade, where did you go? Just staying with your father?" Katy opened. Don put napkin he was holding onto the table and finished sipping.

"We left town. My mother and her fiancé Mack took us to the city. My father died when I was 10."

"Oh, I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." She seemed horrified

"Don't be, I'm fine with talking about it. He wasn't a very good man."

"I see." There was an awkward pause before she jumped in again.

"Well how did you get to work in advertising then!"

"I worked for a fur coat store on 66th street and an older gentleman came into the store one day. He spoke to me about the store advertisements. I told him I'd love to come in and show him my stuff." Don took a break to drink and then continued. "The rest is history I guess."

"Hmm." Katy muttered. "Not bad." She smirked.

"What about you? How did you become a professor?"

"Well I finished up school a home town girl, just as everyone thought I would have. Then I went to Yale for my med degree, I received it, after countless years of hard work and pain. It wasn't all it is cracked up to be. Got engaged young, stayed engaged until just this path month. Guy ran off with some blonde from the Bronx." She looked defiantly into her mug..

"Well I'm very sorry to hear that."

"It's alright… for the best I guess." Katy switched tracks. "So tell me, why did you change your name? Dick to Don? I don't get it."

"I…" he hesitated for a moment. "I felt like I needed a change. I was tired as being known by that name. My past was tied to it, and I just need to let it go. Some bad things happened, I wanted to forget them. This helped me."

"That's a fairly good reason. Maybe one day I'll get the full story." Katy pushed with her words. Don looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe." He muttered. The waiter brought their hors-d'oeurvres to the table and left.

"Do you remember when we climbed the tree?" she asked. Don looked into her black eyes,

"Yes. Yes I do."

"Really? I thought I was the only one." She smiled gaily.

"I remember it." He said. "I remember you practically forcing me to."

"Forcing! Ha!" she laughed. "You needed a friendly push in the right direction."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't" Don smirked. "How about I friendly push you for a dance?" The big brass band began playing some slower blues songs as the night dragged on.

Don and Katy were the only ones on the dance floor. Her hands were on his sides, His hands were around her back and they were held close.

"Just like the old days." He said quietly

She kissed him gently on the cheek. "Just like the old days."


	18. Chapter 18- In Check

_(All of the military information in this story is accurate, and detailed. Extensive research was done on it's behalf)_

_Chapter 18: In Check_

Sally Draper was sitting with Bobby in their new playroom when she finally opened the two Barbie dolls Henry had bought her. She didn't really like Henry, but she did like the dolls. One was the new model of Barbie, wearing a bright yellow tennis outfit and the other was Ken, in a nice suit and tie. Henry had also bought her a Barbie house. It was very nice, but it just wasn't what she'd wanted. What she really wanted was her old house back. She wanted her old life back, her dad and their smiles once again. She drove the dolls around in the plastic pink sports car she had gotten for Christmas from her dad and of course Bobby intervened with his dumb aliens from Mars.

"Look out, the aliens are coming to steal away Ken and Barbie." Bobby alerted

"No Bobby, leave them alone."

"Too late! They are going to be taken." He affirmed, swooping in the action figure from the air. He brought it down to the car where Barbie was and dropped the doll on top of her. Sally, dismayed, smacked the doll off of Barbie and began driving away.

"You can't do that! That's cheating!" Bobby shouted.

"Yes I can, I'm older. I have more power."

"You always say that." Bobby pouted. Mrs. Francis piped up from the living room,

"Get along you two! Bobby, stop yelling." Sally pushed the car further away as Bobby picked up the action figure and stood it on Sally's head.

"I now control Sally! I am powerful! I know everything."

Sally reacted swiftly by swatting the doll off of her head. The alien flung into a wall and it's head popped off. Of course, Bobby started crying and Mrs. Francis walked in.

"Sally, what did you do?" she asked sternly.

"Bobby was being mean and standing him on my head so I flipped him off!" Bobby was sobbing in such a clearly fake manner it sounded more like cackling.

"Bobby Draper quit being melodramatic. It's just a toy, bring it here. And stop antagonizing your sister. You know what that means? It means don't pretend her dolls are being attacked by aliens."

"Okay" Bobby wiped the tears from his face and gave the severed head and body to his mother, who quickly snapped them back together.

"There! Good as new." She stood up and rubbed his head. "Henry's family is coming to see the house in a little while, okay? I need help being good. No fighting, just be civil with each other. Bobby no antagonizing. Sally, no throwing of Bobby's things. You're older, you know what to do."

Sally frowned but nodded her head. She hated being in trouble.

It was about a half hour before the first guests arrived at the Francis residence. They were well dressed, in petticoats and large hats. Older ladies, maybe one was Henry's mom, Sally was thinking. She couldn't see clearly from the winding stairwell. Bobby was sitting beside her, dangling through the spindles of the stairs.

"I don't like them very much." Bobby muttered. Sally breathed in and then replied slowly,

"Neither do I." She stood up and put her hands and chin on the bannister. "We don't have a choice." It wasn't long before many more flooded the house and the maids were walking about cleaning up and setting the large dining room table. Henry came a tad late but when he did arrive, he waited by the door to greet everyone with Betty. Bobby became bored with sitting and watching, and so went to his room.

Dinner went by quickly and it wasn't long afterwards that dessert was done too. Governor Rockefeller showed up nearer the drinks piece of the party, while everyone was socializing in the salon. The doorbell rang a final time and Betty Francis stood from the sofa to answer the door. She smiled swinging the door open to greet the guest. Standing before her in a tailored light grey suit, was Donald Draper. Her smile faded and her skin turned pale.

"What are you doing here?" she muttered, keeping her voice down. Don didn't look as discontent but he did not appear to be happy either.

"Rockefeller has no idea that we're related. He thinks I'm just his companies advertising agent. That's all. This doesn't have to be awkward. I did want to show Nelly that I was making an effort with his people. Unfortunately, this is one of them." Henry began walking over to the door,

"Betty dear, who is it?" He spoke heartily: that is, until he pulled the door back further.

"Don. I see you made it." He mumbled.

"Henry. Sorry I'm late." Betty contorted her face in confusion and asked,

"You two knew about this?"

"When we met up a few days back at his agency." Henry quipped. "It was the Governor's suggestion, I couldn't turn him down. Nelson Rockefeller is not a man who takes no for an answer." Don stepped inside the mansion and brushed of his feet, hanging his over coat on the wide rack.

"Boy! You made it!" Rockefeller walked over to Don and shook his hand a smiling.

"Yes, well, unfortunately I can't stay for long."

"That's alright! Glad you came!' he smiled and began walking to a small congregation in the dining room.

"Nice place you got here Betts." He looked around noticing his daughter wandering the upper halls.

"Thank you Don, I think it's great." Henry spoke up, seemingly out of impatience.

"I don't mean to be rude; I'm going to go socialize with the people from Lancing Oil. Betty, come get me if you need me." He quickly stepped away.

"Something gives me the impression he isn't fond of me." Don smirked.

For some reason Betty found this funny and smiled, "Yes, strange, isn't it?" she replied sarcastically.

"Listen, I need to talk to you about the house. Could we meet privately, tonight preferably? Do you have an office we could use?"

Betty looked around, "I don't see why not, Henry's is upstairs and to the left. Just wait in there, and I'll be up in a moment."

Don moved through the house with grace, his Oxford's clacking against the hardwood. He made his way upstairs where his daughter ran into his chest, tightly hugging him.

"Daddy! Why are you here?" she nearly yelled.

"Shhh, don't be so loud." He bent down to her level. Daddy and mommy are playing a game. No one here can guess who I am, okay?" Sally frowned in confusion but said

"Okay, I think I get it… Why are you here?"

"I'm here with my company, I'm working for the same man that Henry is working for."

"The governor?" she asked.

"The governor. Anyway, you go play with Bobby. Don't tell him I'm here until I say it's okay, alright?"

"Okay!" she smiled and ran off to her room, shutting the door, nearly all the way. Don smiled: he missed his little girl a lot lately. The large sprawling office was opposite himself, and with ease he went inside. Sally heard the door close from her room, and she walked over to her own door cracking it open. She could see the office door was open. Betty was making her way up the stairs and then also walked into the office, closing the door slightly. Sally pushed her door open and tip-toed over to the office. Don was leaning against the large oak desk, when Betty walked in.

"So I hear you haven't sold the house yet." Don opened.

"No, we have got some offers though." Betty retorted, feeling defensive for the lack of sale.

"I would like to buy it from you. At least your half, back from you."

"I… don't know what to say. Are you sure that's such a good idea?... I mean with its history and whatnot."

"I don't see why it's a bad idea." Don started, standing from the desk. "The kids grew up there: all their friends are in that neighborhood. Lord, I miss that neighborhood. It saves me the trouble of having to buy a new house, and I can easily move some of my apartment furniture back into the place. It saves us having to split the bill; I'll simply pay you half the asking price."

Betty sat down in the office chair, biting her nails. "But the kids will just want to be at your place all the time."

"I'll be taking them on weekends as usual, there will be no extra time allotted. They'll get used to this place sooner or later."

Betty sat in silence for a while. Sally was watching the whole ordeal pass by in sheer joy. She nearly screamed when she heard he daddy was buying back the old house.

"Alright, I'll get the papers to you as soon as I can."

Don reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his extended wallet. Sliding it open, he pulled out a certified check and handed it to Betty. Her eyes widened.

"You can afford this? This is too much, five thousand too much." She looked up to Don inquisitively.

"The ten thousand is for the house, the five is for you and the kids. You spend it on whatever you want for them: Vacation, schooling, whatever you deem good."

Betty was overjoyed hearing this: Henry kept most of his money to himself, locked up tight in assets and investing. She looked up to Don.

"Thank you Don… Thank you. That means a lot." He said nothing but smiled. Betty stood up and hugged Don.

Sally was glued to the door. Bobby's tugging on her shirt didn't even faze her. Betty kissed Don lightly on the cheek and then moved to his lips. They began kissing deeper and Sally fell away from the door and gasped.

* * *

It was nearly noon when Joan awoke. She sat up in bed, feeling the side of her face. To her surprise there was a large ice pack clinging to it and a cloth holding it to her head. Her face was hot from the inflammation but the ice was keeping it cool. The swelling had reduced a lot and her face almost looked normal, aside from the black eye, scar and bruising. She sat up in bed and peered around, once again forgetting where she was.

"Mike" she called out, nearly inaudible at first, then slowly getting louder. "Mike!" she could hear a door close in the room next to her and then the bedroom door opening.

"She has awaken." He muttered in a low tone, slowly walking into the room.

"Ha-ha, how charming." She felt her face. "Did you do this?"

"Yes, my mother used to do it with me all the time." He said. Joan smiled and then asked in realization,

"Why were you always wearing ice packs?"

"Two older brothers." He laughed. "They had an interesting way of showing their love for me."

"Still nice to have them, I was an only child!" Joan exclaimed.

"Yes, it was nice to have them. I miss them dearly." Michael stood up and marched to the window with his hands in his pockets, slowly dragging the drapes open.

"Do you not talk with them often?" she asked.

"Jonathan is in Lorraine, pushin' up daisies: been there since '44. He was on the frontline at Metz, in France, and was pushing back the Siegfried Line all the way to the Rhine River. I know you probably don't know much about the war, but this was when the allies were pushing from France back into Germany. An artillery shell flew from a 155mm gun and took them out. That's what I hear at least. Cade, my other brother, committed suicide in '48. He was never the same after the war ended. I guess he couldn't handle the things he saw. Cade was a pilot. He told me he was following the Siegfried line from the air the day day Jonathan died. He even said he saw the shell that took out Jonny's company. He told me he spent the rest of the day finding the bastards who shot it, and when he found them, he riddled them with the planes .50 cal machine guns. He said he thought it would bring a deep satisfaction, some sort of justice but it just never came." Michael stared out the window at the city below.

"I'm so sorry Mike; I didn't mean to bring that all up."

"Don't be, I chose to tell you, in good faith of course. I trust you, and I know that you care deeply."

"I do, and I'm glad you trust me." Joan attempted to smile but her jaw hurt too much. "Ow..." she muttered.

"I booked you an appointment with your doctor, tomorrow morning. Today, you're resting up. I already called in and said you'd gone to your mothers for an important visit."

"And you?" Joan began moving from the bed.

"And me what?"

"What's your sadly departed excuse!" she mused.

"I just said I was sick and working from home." He smiled and laughed.

"Oh, good cover."

"Hey, better than none!" he added.

"True." Joan moved out of bed and removed the ice pack, putting on the night dresser beside her. She walked out into the hall, finding the kitchen. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"You're making me food?" Mike asked from the bedroom.

"Yes, why not!" she hollered. Michael left the bedroom and walked into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table. Joan was putting on her apron and putting her hair into a ponytail. With that, she began cooking.

"So what about your family?" Mike pushed.

"I grew up with my mother." She pushed a pan onto the stove and lit the pilot. "I grew up in Nassau County, around Sands Point. My father passed away when I was 4, I don't remember much of him. My mother was the heir to Lawrick Lumber, a company my grandfather, Henry Lawrick started. He struck rich, and I reaped the benefit I guess." She looked over to Mike and smiled a bit. "You could say I was very sheltered as a kid. Played on the grounds of our gated house with the servants, did homework, not much to say there." She took a pause. "My mother is the strongest person I know. She got me through so much…" she paused again.

Mike sensed the change of subject and looked up to her. "What did she get you through?"

"A lot of heartbreak. She taught me about a real man."

"The buff, good looking, smart, tall, lean mean fighting machine?"

Joan chuckled but then became serious again.

"No, the kind, caring, loving, men who want nothing but the best for their woman. That's what my mother taught me." Mike inhaled deeply, a knot formed in his stomach.

"What happened Joannie…?" she stopped cooking for a moment, and then continued.

"If it was anyone else I'd say I tripped on something and fell, smacking my face. But you would't believe that, would you?"

"Probably not." He placed the paper he was reading on the table. Joan moved the pan onto a hot plate.

"He was drunk. We… got into a dispute. He thought I was sleeping with Roger. I told him it wasn't true. He didn't believe me and called me names. I thought about the things my mother told me, and that's when I backhanded him. He decided it was alright to sucker punch me I guess. I hit my head and got knocked out." she put the omelet's she made onto two plates.

"So… what are you going to do then?" his senses were heightened, somewhat in anger, somewhat in wonder.

"I don't know… I feel… torn. I have an odd respect the institution of marriage, as hypocritical as that sounds. I want it to work out, but yet I really don't."

A rage in Mike's heart was building. "You can't just let that go?" he burst.

"Not as easily as I'd like it to be." She shed a tear. He sat in silence for a moment.

"What would your mother have done?" Mike looked up to her. She followed his eyes with hers. He leaned in kissing her on the forehead and picked up he paper and the first word that Joan read, in black bold was **"The Bearcat"**


	19. Chapter 19- Gone With The Wind

Chapter 19: Gone With The Wind

_**Wednesday, July 21**__**st**__**, 1965**_

The sun was pooling through the vast windows of Peggy Olson's office. She was typing away on her typewriter, clicking down some information on Lincoln. It had been a long morning for her: much of it was spent doing more research and refining ideas. She was just finishing the end of a document when she received a call.

"Ms. Olson, you have a call from Michael." She boomed through the intercom.

"Put him through." She swung around to the desk and reached for the phone. The light illuminated and she picked up the receiver.

"Hello."

"Been there since early, no?" he laughed.

"Lucky you, being away." She scoffed. "I've been on the typewriter since 6."

"I've been in my office since 4, you don't hear me complaining." Peggy smiled and leaned against the back cabinets. She replied acerbically,

"No I don't, mind you we just started talking." She could hear him laugh quickly, then he continued,

"So what have you got?" Mike sat down by the window in his apartment.

"I just really like "The Gentleman's car." I thought we could go with that."

"It's too bland." He rubbed his forehead. "We need something that defines Lincoln. A once in a lifetime car. People need to need this car, not just want it. They need it." Peggy moved from the cabinet to her desk.

"What would make people need this car?" she said quietly: Her mind racing.

"Something that is distinguishable about it. What is interesting about the car?" Mike asked. Peggy's brain began firing on all cylinders.

"It's big, it's bulky, it's bad on gas: Pretty much the same as every other American motorcar."

There was a moment of silence on the phone while they both thought. Mike spoke up, "It's not about the car itself. The whole idea has to be brought in, the idea of the ideal motorcar."

"I think I understand." She summed. "America's best car. Period." She smiled.

"I'd love to put that as the slogan, but that is a bold statement, inviting much controversy. If they can, in anyway, prove that it isn't, they'll jump all over Lincoln."

"How about, America's favourite car?" she asked. Mike stood from his chair and walked with the phone towards the bed, sitting on the edge.

"I like that. America's favourite car. We could run that past Don."

"I'm already sensing he'll find a fault in it, no?" Her thoughts ran to the previous approaches where she was immediately shut down.

"I guess you're right." He paused, then reignited the conversation. "You see a Lincoln: you see prestigious. You see the mark of a well-known businessman, a congressman, someone of importance. Kennedy drove a Continental, so does Johnson. It's prestige. Why not put that in the title. America's most prestigious car."

"I love it! I think it'll fit perfectly with what they want. Stay on the line, I'm going to tell Don." She placed the phone on hold, and ran to Don's office, knocking on the door.

"Come in." he said loudly. Peggy brushed the door open and walked up to his desk. He pulled his reading glasses off, placing them on the table. "So, what is it?"

"Mike and I have been talking, hear this: America's most prestigious car. That's what a Lincoln is. People see Lincoln, people know Lincoln, people love Lincoln. Kennedy drove a Lincoln, Johnson drives a Lincoln, it's a household name" She began pouring out.

"I like it. It's quick; it's forceful, yet understanding. Drop Kennedy in the commercials though, it's still too soon." He affirmed. "Let's change the word prestigious: use distinguishable. It's a synonym. Cadillac ran an ad a few years back with the word prestigious in the title. We wouldn't want to infringe on copywriting claims. The bonus now is in the wording. Not only is it prestigious, but the most recognizable." He smiled in victory.

"Excellent, I'll go tell Mike and Stan. We'll get started as soon as we can." She began leaving the office, but Don stopped her just as she closed the door.

"And Peggy…" he opened.

"What?"

"Well done." He smiled. She closed the door in excitement. After returning to her office she picked up the receiver.

"He went for it!" Mike smiled and cast his fist into the air.

"Yes!" he shouted.

"We're just going to change prestigious to distinguishable. That okay with you?"

"Let's get this thing rolling!" he continued in a buzz.

"I'll talk to Stan right now." She laughed. "Will you be in the office later?"

"I'll stop by later today, probably around 2:00."

"See you then!" she hung up the receiver and stood from her chair. She could feel the rush of adrenaline pumping. "

"STAN! Get in here!" she shouted down the hall.

* * *

_**Tuesday Night**_

Don Draper left the Francis' household at 9:30 p.m. He held a deep sense of regret when he stepped out the door. First, the confusion with Betty: he knew it was wrong what he was doing, and he didn't want to put everyone at risk, and second, he was nearly dating someone else. This time, it was different for him. When he was upstairs kissing Betty, he heard a thud outside not moments after they began. After a good time, he went to check the door, it was cracked open and he could see across the hall to Sally's room, where Don witnessed his daughters prying eyes looking at him. He walked back into the room

_"Sally is looking at us." _ He said. Betty clasped her hands over her mouth.

_"Do you think she knows?"_ she inquired.

_"I hope not." _He muttered. _"Maybe I should talk with her."_

_ "You better not. Don't go giving her any ideas, even the simplest ones. She'll turn it around, or mention it when Henry is around…. You need to go Don. I'll have the papers ready by Thursday morning. I'll send them to your secretary."_

Don's Cadillac was waiting patiently further down the block. He started it up and began driving down the road, leaving the crowded suburb. Once he hit the highway it took fifteen minutes to get back into the city. He took the bridge down into Brooklyn and drove through the entrenchment of cheap suburbia. Katy's house wasn't too far off the main road, and was quite pleasant actually. It was a two story, red brick and white siding. There was blue and white overhangs coming from the windows and planted pots hung from the roof of the small porch. Her lawn was well kept: completely green and cut neatly. He pulled into the long driveway, parking behind an old black Chevy truck.

"Don!" he heard a familiar voice coming from the porch. Katy was sitting in a rocking chair, reading a book. "Glad you could make it." She placed the book on the small wooden table beside her. Don removed his hat as he ascended the steps and took a seat of the other chair beside her.

"Glad I could come." He smiled.

"How was work?" she opened.

"Good, we made some progress on some of the accounts, still waiting on others."

"That's nice to hear. Better forward than backwards."

"True." He admitted. Katy looked to him more intently.

"Iced tea?" she asked

"Sure." Don held up his glass to the pitcher. As she poured, Katy asked,

"So why did you avoid my question at the coffee shop?"

Don felt a knot in his stomach. "I guess I wasn't very forthcoming, was I?" he smiled to reduce the awkwardness.

"No, to be honest. I always wondered what happened to you. I'd see you every day in passing at your father's farm. I knew he took you out of school to help him there. Suddenly one day your father died. I remember that day, you were crying, trying to piece it all together. Then you moved away. Years later, I hear you died in the war, and I was there the day your "body" got back stateside. Your baby brother was going on and on about how he'd seen you on the train driving away: I guess your stepfather didn't believe him. Fill in the blanks, will you." She took a sip of iced tea and Don took a long swig.

"Archie Whitman died when a horse kicked him in the face and he was very drunk. I didn't really know what to do right then, I ran out to get my mother, who wasn't really my mother, and she called the police. My real mother was a 22 year old prostitute who died in childbirth. My stepmother Abigail, me, and my brother moved away with her new husband Mack after a while. We called him Uncle Mack." He took a sip of tea. "She really took me in, I'll never forget that. My own father was less to me than this woman who really should have hated me. She died in the early fifties and Mack died in the late fifties." He took a short pause to drink, thinking about where he should go next. "I was out in a foxhole with my lieutenant. We were the only ones there. Suddenly we got pinned down while digging latrines for the upcoming companies. We held them off and they left, but a pool of gas had filled the latrine from a broken gas barrel. He lit a cigarette and boom. The end. I took his dog tags in a moment of desperation and made it out of Korea alive. I kept living under that name."

Katy sat silently, looking into the sky. "I understand now. I won't tell anyone, you know."

"And I'm grateful for it." Don quipped.

"What about your brother? Adam would talk about you often; he really believed it was you on that train. Even into his adulthood he never kept off about you being alive."

There was a longer moment of hesitation, and he sighed deeply before opening the story. "Adam did see me that day on the train and I saw him. I almost ran to him right then and there, but something in me told me to keep going. He was the only reason I ever had any doubt. In some ways I wished I stayed in contact with him. Last year he tried to get in contact with me. He saw my face on the front a paper and came looking for me. We spoke twice, I told him he needed to go. He left me a shoebox full of pictures and drawings of my family. Then he hung himself." Don grabbed a cigarette from his pocket as Katy gasped.

"Di… Don, I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to pry. I just, I felt I needed to know." She was horrified.

A tear rolled down his eye and he quickly wiped it away. "Now you do." He murmured. The words echoed in his head,

"Now you do."

* * *

The lukewarm water coming from the showerhead slightly irritated Joan. She was used to a steady stream of steaming hot water, but her toying with the handle held no such dream. "It was still a shower." She thought. After washing her hair and running shampoo through it, she shaved her legs using an extra razor that Mike had. Though the water was not up to par, she still enjoyed its cleansing feeling and it soothed her jaw and facial pain. Her thoughts drifted back to her old apartment, and the man who was still staying there. There was still a connection to him, some odd feeling she couldn't break. He was brutal to her, breaking her heart, and being physically abusing: not only that sexually abusive. "There must have been something." She thought, "Something I saw in him when we met. Maybe I rushed it..." her head span as she was drying off.

Mike had unloaded her luggage into the dresser drawer beside the bed. They weren't arranged according to what she liked, but weren't so off. After putting on a light blouse and skirt she did up the buttons and then walked to the vanity, adjusting her hair for its usual upkeep. Her face looked visible better, but was still bruised on the jawline and in the high cheeks; her black eye was fading. As she opened the bedroom she could hear Michael cursing in the other room as he dropped a ruler to the floor. She peered around the door and saw him. He was sitting in the window seat, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. His horn rimmed glasses sat low on his nose as he gazed upon the paper he was writing upon. A white work shirt was fastened on him, but the sleeves were rolled up and he was still wearing his work slacks from the night before.

Joan felt love.

An odd sensation, something she needed, and it was sitting, literally, before her. This boy, this man, cared for her so much. He sunk his absolute heart into anything she needed, and no matter what, disagreement or agreement, he always looked for a peaceable understanding. For the first time ever, she wanted to be with him. Just to be with him. She wanted to understand him, she wanted to love him. Society often misconstrues love as a feeling deep inside us. The real love is the choice, the action of pursuing that feeling inside you. "We get so caught up in loving, and when we don't want to try we blame love lost. I'm tired of that." She thought quietly.

Mike noticed her slipping in the doorway. He looked over to her and said,

"Well aren't you looking gorgeous." And then he smiled.

"Oh really? Even with this black eye and bruise? I think I look like a monstrosity." She laughed.

"No, it shows you're tough. Who knew Joan could take a smack like a champion. If anyone else asks what happened, all you have to say: "You should see the other guy."

They both laughed joyously. Joan moved towards the window seat, and sat down opposite Michael. He brought the paper down from his face and pushed up his glasses.

"Thank you Michael."

"For what?" he played dumb, maybe for fun, or maybe just because he liked hearing her talk.

"You know what: For taking me in. I owe you greatly; I don't know how I can repay you." She looked out the window.

"In the great words of James Bond, "How can a friend be in debt?" Mike smiled once again. "I don't even count this a favour, taking care of you is an absolute joy to me." He uncrossed his legs and put the pad and pen on the drafting table next to himself. "My mother, when she became very ill, this was just after the war, asked me to see her. I used to go visit her, every day, at the hospital. She had cancer, and it didn't look to be the easy type. I think it was two months in when I knew. I knew that she wouldn't make it. It was really hard for me to accept that, wondering if there was hope, wondering if I should give up, but I didn't. I went every, single day, until October 18th, 1950 when she passed on. I would bring her fresh towels and food, and feed her, and talk to her. I'm pretty sure I took better care of her than those nurses did." He laughed a little, and kept on, "She would ask me to read her these stories, old ones. Dickens, Brönte, that sort of thing. Then she made me read _Gone with the Wind _by Margret Mitchell. I don't know if you've read it, but it's about Scarlet and Rhett, a perfect twosome whose love could not prosper by the untimeliness of her choosing to like him. He liked her, she didn't, she liked him, he had had enough. I cried when it ended, and my mother asked why. I told her because it was hopeless. Her jovial response was, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

Both Joan and Michael laughed and she could feel tears coming to her eyes.

"But then my mother turned to me, she said quietly. "You don't have to have it that way. Be upfront with her. Tell her you mean business, be respectful, loving, caring, knowing, compassionate, understanding, but most of all!" she pointed her long thin finger at me; "You let her know how you feel, right when you feel it." If there's anything I remember about my mother, it's that. Joannie, I love you, and I want to make that clear. I do. No more Scarlet and Rhett garbage." He concluded the story with a broad smile.

Joan said nothing with w few stray tears rippling her clean face. She leaned in and kissed him deeply.

"I love you too." She admitted between kisses.


	20. Chapter 20- The Infanta

**Chapter 20: The Infanta**

**_Thursday, July 29__th__, 1965_**

"Let's have the car over there, and then it can drive on the road from the left side of the screen." Peggy pointed to the place on the storyboard where she wanted Stan to draw the lines. He quickly sketched in the outlines of a vehicle and drew the motion paths.

"Alright, that looks good. Put some people in the background, on the sidewalk, just talking and smiling." Michael added. He was seated on the table, legs hanging from the side. Peggy sat up from the red chair and looked over Stan's shoulder.

"How's that?" Stan asked.

"Perfect. I think we're almost done." She smiled. Mike walked over to the drink drawer in the creative room and filled it with some brandy, taking a sip. He spoke,

"You think they'll like it?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Stan muttered; his eyes still on the board.

"Why should they?" Mike retorted. Peggy spoke up this time,

"Because it's well thought out; It hasn't been done before, it's fresh, original and usable."

Mike tipped his glass towards Peggy. "True"

Don strode into the creative room with a folder in hand, and greeted everyone with a tip of his fedora. He immediately spoke,

"I'm handing this to Joan, and she is sending it to Lincoln. This is our main ideas, our sketches, and everything we've put together. Is there anything else I need to slide in here?"

Stan stood up and slid a sheet of paper into the folder. "Just one last picture."

"Alright then. Dan Crossman, the CEO of Lincoln is going to be here at three, so in four hours. I want all of you in that meeting. Peggy, you're the voice. Mike, you play back-up. Peggy will lay it out, if he has any questions, you address them. Stan you stand by the drawings and point out what she says on the storyboards. Understood?"

The group agreed and Don turned around, walking over to Joan's office. Stan went over and sat on the couch where Mike had taken a seat. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

"Pass one." Mike turned to him.

"Thought you didn't smoke?" Stan said

"I do in a celebration." He smiled. Stan passed him a cigarette. Michael brought it to his lips, and he leaned into Stan's lighter. After the end began burning, he inhaled. The smoke filled his lungs; it held a loose aftertaste of mint.

"Not bad." He inhaled again. "Could be stronger though."

"I'm trying to cut back. Not all of us can control the nic." Stan laughed. Peggy walked over to the drinks and wetted the bottom of a thick glass with rum and drank down a small amount.

"A celebration." She smiled.

"To us." Mike raised his glass

"To us." The other two raised their glasses as well.

Ken Cosgrove and Lane Pryce walked into the room just as they were sipping the smooth alcohol.

"What are we celebrating?" Ken asked, walking over to the drinks table and pouring himself a drink.

"If you're having one, I might as well too. Brandy, neat." Ken poured the second glass and Lane opened,

"I saw Don walking into Joan's office: it must be the sign of a job well done."

His smile warmed Stan to speak, "Well we all raised our voices on this one. Team effort, team drink. Seems to fit."

Ken brought Lane his drink, and the proceeded to raise his own glass.

"To the Lincoln crew."

"Here here!" Lane said. "And on that note, with Lincoln hopefully parking in our garage, we are nearly 63% of our old billings."

"Another reason to celebrate." Joan walked into the room smiling, a cigarette dangling loosely from her fingers. Her deep blue dress was drawing out the colour in her eyes, and she knew she had the attention. "I just sent the mail to Lincoln, so please, let's sink this deal."

_**Conference Room, 3:05**_

Dan Crossman was certainly the business man they had expected. Rich, affluent and convincing. His air was slightly gaudy and ostentatious, but he still held a pristine sense of truth. He knew what his company needed, and he certainly was not going to settle for anything less. This was the perfect environment and person to unleash their idea upon; he would take the bait without hindrance.

"… And so Mr. Crossman, we came to the idea of prestige: The idea, of Lincoln being the ultimate road car, a car that nothing can supersede. Lincoln needs to be adored, it wants to be adored. It is a car company waiting to show you what it's got. Lincoln is part of America's heritage, a staple in its car industry. It's been around since our grandfather's day: we all remember riding around in his big car. Mike and I took that, and put it into a saying. Lincoln: America's most distinguishable car. The car that sets you apart from other owners."

Peggy relaxed her shoulder and waited for Dan Crossman to speak. The CEO leaned back in his chair looking intently at Peggy's eyes.

"It's good." He said. "Very good." Crossman stood from his seat walking over to Peggy and shaking her hand, followed by Mike's. "When can we get the proofs sent to my office?"

"They left this morning." Don quipped. Dan smiled connivingly and laughed.

"I see you were well prepared. Now I'm a man of vast resources, but the one I feel needs the most attention to me is in the television. I want big commercials: flashy cars, pretty girls, something that catches the watcher. Can you make that happen?" he had turned his head to Don.

"I'll put the head of our television department on that." He stood from the seat, buttoning up his coat.

"Lovely." Dan showed his crooked teeth in a weary smile. "We'll be in touch."

Stan held the two large doors open for the man. Crossman left the conference room with a feeling of confidence.

"We got it." Don smiled.

* * *

Harvey Mayfield was a man of known reputation in political circles. He was not only the campaign manager behind Nelson Rockefeller, but the Congressman of New York. He had wealth and power beyond many. Mayfield understood people, and he understood their habits. These two things, in combination with a lot of funding, got him his seat in Congress. "Friends and enemies alike are what you need to succeed." – One of his personal mottos. Rockefeller had hired him as campaign manager, as a good friend, but also because he knew that Harvey would push him into the winners circle.

Harvey knew the election was racing upon them, and so he was making a final stop at Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce to secure the endurance of the race. He had gone by himself today, driving his own car. The Dodge rolled up a block down, and he stepped out, walking the rest of the way. Once he had ascended in the elevator, he made his way inside the large glass doors and approached the oak rights of passage, and the waiting receptionist.

"I'm her to see Donald Draper, is that possible?"

"Do you have an appointment?" she cordially asked.

"No, well, I sort of dropped in. It's of importance though."

"Well if you don't have an appointment I'll have to ask."

"Alright." He turned from her and peered out the adjacent window.

"Mrs. Harris, is Mr. Draper in?"

There was a moment's silence and then she replied.

"Yes, he just left a meeting. Is there someone for him?"

"A drop in, A Mr. Mayfield is here." She held her hand over the receiver and motioned to speak. "I beg your pardon, but what is the business."

"I am the Governor's Campaign Manager." He stated.

The secretary removed her hand from the receiver and repeated it to Joan.

"I'll be out in a minute to get him." Joan hung up the receiver and jutted out from her office, heading towards the doors.

"Mr. Mayfield, please to meet you." She outstretched her hand and shook his.

"And you are?" he asked happily.

"Joan Harris, I'm the Director of Agency Operations. I'm here to take you to Don." She motioned down the hall behind herself.

"After you then." He smiled slyly. Joan walked with a quickstep as she could feel the eyes watching behind her. "Men need to learn to keep their eyes up." She thought laughingly.

"Well, this is Don's office." She knocked on the door.

"Darn, we never got to talk." He laughed.

"Next time." She laughed as well. Peggy was listening and watching from the creative room and laughing at Joan's misfortune. She looked to Peggy in a desperate smile. Don opened the door just in time and let him in.

"Mr. Mayfield." He extended his hand and shook. The other man entered the office quickly and Don pushed the door closed behind him.

"You have quite the staff." Mayfield laughed connivingly. Don sensed his type of humour and gently played along.

"Yes, well I took a while to get it that way."

"You sly devil!" Harvey chortled from his gut, taking a seat on the far couch.

"Enough with the pleasantries." He began, "I'm coming here to ensure, at least on the Governor's behalf, that we have your full support."

"We're doing everything we can…" Harvey cut him off,

"I know you are, I just had to say it for saying's sake. What I really came here to ask was if it was possible for you guys to throw up a few more billboards around town. I see the ones that have already been erected, but we could use a few more. Bill Harriman has 34, we only have 27 and with the gap closing, it would be good to have a nice edge."

"The gap is closing?" Don was alarmed.

"Yes, and you didn't hear it from me. We're still points ahead, but some of Harriman's ideas are finally gaining traction with the less fortunate, if you get my meaning."

Don stood from his desk and marched to the drinking table, pouring himself a scotch and offering one to Harvey Mayfield. He took the offer and they both sat in silence a moment before Don spoke.

"I'll personally see that we push up more ads. I'll also extend my hand to some friends and see what can be done in other sectors."

Harvey smiled and stood up from his chair, syphoning down the last of the scotch.

"Just what I wanted to hear. Perhaps aim more for the low down and less thought about." He elbowed towards Don and winked. "I can let myself out. Unless one of your pretty ladies could escort me?" he mused.

"I'm sure they would love to, unfortunately they are just all tied up." They both laughed and Harvey Mayfield left Don's office.

"May I never turn out like that." Don sighed.

* * *

"Well you're looking better Joannie." Roger Sterling started as Joan entered his office.

"Thank you Roger." She smiled. "You look well too."

"Yeah?" he smiled. "I've been working out a bit. Wouldn't want those coronaries to catch up would we?" he reached for a cigarette in his pocket.

"Of course not." She returned. "Harvey Mayfield came from the Governor's office today."

"Mayfield eh? I've heard that name. He's big time though. Did Don tell you anything he said."

"Just that the gap was closing between W. Averell Harriman and Nelson Rockefeller in the race." Joan leaned back.

Roger became visibly upset. "Dammit, we've been putting out ads all month. Did we secure the billboard on fifth?"

"They're putting it up Friday. It costs too much to put it up any sooner."

"Alright. How about under the Coke board in Times Square?"

"I reserved it for one day before the election."

"One day!" he shouted.

Joan replied indifferently, "At 10 000$ a day, I felt it a bit steep for our budget, considering this election has put us in the red. The new account is the only benefit from this: Peggy and Michael snagged Lincoln, I don't know if you've heard yet."

"Yes I could hear them yammering on in the room over there."

"Oh don't be so sour. This is good. We could really use the money."

"If you say so." Roger butted the cigarette. Suddenly a voice interrupted their conversation.

"Mrs. Harris?" the receptionist said through the intercom.

"Yes?" Joan spoke up.

"Your husband is here."

A cold chill shot down her spine. She shuttered and moved in her seat. Joan looked up to Roger.

"He seems… angry." The receptionist whispered.

"How is he even still here...? Send him into my office. I'll be there in a moment." Her voice was barely audible.

"What's wrong." Roger inquired. His tone was more of a statement than a question.

"We'll talk later Roger. I have to go." She stood from her chair and pushed the hair from her eyes. She was shivering in worry and discontent. When she walked outside Michael saw her from the creative room and he smiled at her. Joan didn't return the gesture and he got a deep bad feeling that nested in his mind. Dropping his pen, he made his way towards Joan who was motionless in the hall.

"… So I thought we could put another on 42nd, maybe one by Maxie's on 23rd… Mike, Mike! Where are you going?" Peggy demanded. He didn't reply. Mike had reached Joan and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a yelp from down the hall.

"Joan!" the shout cut clean through the air.

Greg Harris was making his way, thundering, down the corridor towards them.

"Stay here." She muttered.

"Like I was going anywhere else." He stated. Joan looked intently down the hall towards her husband. He had pushed aside a few passersby and had gotten nearly half the offices attention. As he approached them he started yelling.

"You said you would call."

"I said I would call if I wanted to talk. I don't want to talk."

"Oh really?" he bashed loudly, finally coming to a halt a few feet away. "Buzz off man. This isn't your place."

"Actually it is. So why don't you make like a tree, and leave." He could hear Ken laughing from behind him.

"Oh what a comedian!" Greg scoffed. "Thinking he knows his stuff. This isn't between you, and it doesn't concern you. This is a dispute between husband and wife…"

"And you brought it into my office, Bud." Mike rolled up his sleeves in anticipation. Blood was pumping through his veins.

"Looking for a fight?" Greg turned his attention to Michael.

"If need be."

"Yeah? I'm in the military man. Re-evaluate your situation."

"Just did, last time I checked, I fought in Korea and I'm sure you were all cozied up at home."

"Ha-ha." Greg scoffed. "It was a police action." Mike clenched his fists until the knuckles turned white, but never threw a punch.

"Call it what you like, but I had to beat the life out of people I didn't want to, none-the-less. And the people I fought weren't beautiful women." Mike seethed through his teeth.

Greg's face turned beet red in anger. "How dare you take our problems to someone else."

"How dare I?" Joan said. "How dare I! I had nowhere else to go? No one to turn to! You should be absolutely ashamed of yourself Gregory Harris. I don't want to see you anymore. I don't know how you aren't back in Vietnam, but I want out, now. I'll go to Reno on the weekend and get the papers, and you'll sign them, without a fight."

"Who says I'll do that!" Greg laughed in her face.

"I'll make your life absolutely miserable. Don't even begin to think I can't. You've underestimated me before." Michael flashed a smile slyly.

"Quit grinning you little shit." Greg sputtered. "Fine, whatever. You were bad in bed anyway." He mused.

"Actually, she's probably the best you, or I, will have ever had." Mike retorted.

Ken and Stan dropped their jaws in disbelieving laughter. Joan stood semi-awkwardly, but also in a minor state of relief, knowing what had happened was out in the open.

"You fucker!" Greg yelled.

"Now get the hell out of here you dumb son of a bitch. If I ever hear you come within a mile of this woman again, I'll kill ya."

Greg swung back and laid a punch straight into Mike chest, knocking him back into the partition wall of the creative room. He shook his hand from the pain of the blow and Mike careened into a nearby table, slowly reestablishing himself.

"Ya done?" he spat blood onto the floor.

"Just getting started." Greg threw a punch towards Mike's face, which he narrowly avoided, ducking to the left. Mike brought his fist into Greg's stomach, winding him and forcing a hasty recovery. It took a moment but they both re-stabilized. Harris ran towards Mike and attempted an uppercut. Mike stepped on his knee joint and snapped it sideways. Greg buckled in pain and grabbed his leg.

"Michael, that's enough." Roger said, appearing from his office. Mike kicked him in the stomach twice while he was down. Roger ran over and pushed him off.

"Michael, he's out, stop." Roger picked Greg up onto his feet. Greg spat blood onto the floor and said,

"This isn't over."

"Leave, Greg." Joan replied. "Just leave."

"I'm not done here."

Roger grabbed his arm and clasped it tightly. "You're done." He looked Greg in the eyes. "Go home Greg!" Roger shouted

The defeated man knew inside he had been bested, and retreated slowly down the hall, flipping off the office with what little energy he had left.

"Thank you Roger." Mike said.

Roger took a moment to look him in the eye. "I thought we established no fighting in the office." he smiled.

Mike could do nothing but laugh. He extended his hand in grace. Roger took a moment, looked down and slowly shook his hand.

"I don't have to like you, but you have got a damn quick wit."

"Likewise."

Roger walked back slowly into his office, closing the door.

"Get back to work!" Joan shouted to the small congregation who had appeared around them.

"Business as usual." Ken grinned.

"Business as usual." Joan repeated.

Once the crowd had dissipated she turned to Falco, who was looking distantly.

"Thank you. I wished there hadn't been a physical dispute… but I guess that was inevitable."

"I think so." He laughed. "Justice doesn't always serve itself."

"No, indeed it doesn't." she agreed.

"So I'll probably lose my house and half my stuff in the next while." She turned to him.

"Shitty deal." Mike laughed. "Well, I have a cot you could always stay on." He winked.

"It'll have to do." Joan Holloway smiled. "It'll just have to do."


	21. Chapter 21- Somewhere Beyond The Sea

Chapter 21- Somewhere Beyond The Sea

_**Friday, the 30**__**th**__** of July, 1965**_

Lane Pryce's hair was off today. He had attempted to part it to the left: something he should never have done. His wife had always done his hair; telling him what looked good, what looked crass or offensive, and what looked neat and perfectionist. He was slow to rise from bed today, and took a risky chance which didn't pay off.

Pryce pulled his glasses off, and standing at the mirror in his office, he took an old black comb, smudged some oil onto it, and parted it back to the right. He smiled in content when he saw the old wave appear. It's almost as if hair had its own memory system, and if you play around with that, you'll end up with an odd do. He placed the comb back in the drawer and set his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

His intercom buzzed a moment, and he went to receive the call.

"Yes?" his accent, impeccable.

"Mr. Pryce, Mrs… well I guess, Ms. Holloway would like a word with you."

"Send her in." he answered. It took a moment but the door swung open and Joan entered. Lane stood from his chair to greet her.

"Good morning." He smiled.

"Good morning." She replied, returning the gesture.

"You look just dashing today may I add, black looks well on you."

"Why thank you." She blushed slightly. "I don't mean to jump from a compliment, but it is important."

"Yes? Well, have a seat." Lane sat back down. "What is it this time?"

"The election is next week today, and I'd like us to be prepared on all fronts."

"How can I help?" His hands opened in faith.

Suddenly she was cut off by a buzz. Lane looked from the intercom to Joan.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all." She waved it off.

"Yes Linda, what is it?" Lane leaned over to the box.

"Michael would like a word."

Lane looked up to Joan for an approving glace, which he received.

"Send him in." he replied.

Michael Falco stepped into the office with a grand footing. He was wearing a dark suit; a red tie, and his shoes shone like newly polished silver.

"I didn't mean to intrude." He ran his hand through his blond hair.

"Quite alright, what is it Michael?" Lane began.

"Well it's about the election; I was thinking we could have a get together, here, with your approval of course."

Joan grinned and commented, "That's actually why I came in here as well."

"Great minds think alike." Lane laughed. "Alright, I say go. Who is leading this charge?"

"Well we could divide up the duties, but I feel like Joan should be at the helm." Mike spoke up. "If she has time."

"Joan?" he looked wondering at her.

"I do have the time, and I would be honoured Mr. Pryce."

"Then the decision is done. Ms. Holloway, you have your party." He stood from the large chair. "On a simple condition, that it's semi-formal. The rest is up to you."

"I hope you'll be attending." She stood from the opposing chair.

"Wouldn't dream of missing it."

Mike held open the door for Joan, and he followed her out. Once they were in the hall, she turned while walking.

"Thank you Mike." Her smiled made him giddy, like a young boy again.

"It was a good plan without me in on it; I'm sure Lane would have given it to you without doubts."

"I know, but it's always nice to have the extra push."

They walked through the doors of Joan's small office. Mike grabbed her from behind and kissed her neck. "You're welcome." He muttered. She spun slowly to face him and laid her hand around his neck.

"I'll need some help with the planning: Getting people to come, sending invites."

"I'm your man!"

"Much appreciated." She bit his lip playfully and then kissed him for a long moment. Then she lowered her arms and sat down in her desk, sprawling out some papers.

"Joannie, would you go as my date to the party? I mean it doesn't have to be over obvious but it would be nice to actually be somewhere with you, instead of just knowing that we are both there separately." His boldness was a triumph in itself, catching Joan off guard; she turned slowly in her chair.

"What would everyone think? I don't know Michael. I want to, but I wouldn't want to raise suspicions. Greg and I just split."

"Suspicious of what? Of things that I confirmed in the hall?" his brazen grin was changing her heart.

"Mmmmm…" she hummed in thought. "Convince me."

"I'll buy you dinner."

"Any man can buy a woman dinner." She scoffed

"I'll cook you dinner, me, myself and I. Celebrated with Don Perignon. Does that suit your fancy." Mike brought his face within an inch of Joan's.

"I'm intrigued." She laughed.

"Is that a yes then?" he stood up

"You better look good if you're walking beside me." She leaned back, crossing her arms.

"I'll go shopping over the weekend." He began walking out.

"That's better." She picked up her gold pen and began writing. Mike smirked and pursed his lips together; he closed the door quietly behind him.

* * *

The sun was brightly shining on Don's face as he walked down the boardwalk, looking out onto the sea. The smell of salt filled the air and he could see many boats, dotting the horizon. It was late afternoon, and the sun was just dipping into the deep curve of the west. His aviators blocked the blinding rays just enough for him to comfortably walk towards his destination. A few people strutted along with him on the wide sidewalks. He smiled as a little girl walked past him, and he was reminded of Sally.

"Don!" a voice shouted. He looked further down the way and saw Katy Konstantine leaning off of the boardwalk rail. He smiled and quickened his step.

"I've been waiting for you." She smiled.

"Sorry, I got lost in the view. Sometimes you spend too much time up in those high rises and not enough time truly realizing where you are."

"True, and I'm glad you made it." She nodded

"I am too." He chuckled. She led him by the hand down the boardwalk towards a small restaurant call Julio's; it was harder to find for foreigners, and so most of the patrons were regulars. They walked through the small glass door and into an equally small restaurant. A short man with a dark moustache and glasses approached her. His thick Spanish accent played out as he spoke,

"Katy! It has been a while."

"Tony! Yes it has." He leaned in and pecked her on both cheeks.

"Who is your friend?" he asked.

"This is Don. Don, this is Tony, he's the assistant manager here."

"Nice to meet you." Don extended his hand and shook Tony's.

"Your regular table?" Tony asked.

"Of course." She smiled.

Tony motioned for them to follow him as he walked to the corner of the restaurant where a large window was, with an open view of the sea and the setting sun.

"When you'd like to order, just wave me over." Tony walked over towards the kitchen. Don took a pause and looked around, then peered outside.

"I thought you said you didn't really come to the city?" this came as a statement more than a question.

"I didn't, except for this place. The best Spanish food in all of New York, hands down. It doesn't look like much, but on weekend nights you need to reserve weeks ahead. Tony and Julio lived on my block as kids, naturally I stopped in when they first opened a lot. Now I get reserved seating." She grinned widely.

"Well, I see you have some connections."

"Indeed. You have to try the scallops, they are to die for." She snapped her fingers and Tony ran over.

"Could we get two orders of scallops in the Béarnaise sauce? And a bottle of Bordeaux, anything from before 60'."

"The usual." Tony laughed as he returned to the kitchen.

"How do you know I'll like them?" Don raised a curious brow.

"The old Don I knew loved seafood. Even worms from the puddle down the road from school." She laughed and Don blushed as he remembered the silliest dare he ever partook in.

"How do you remember all of these things? It's charming, really."

"I just have a good memory for good memories. It was a special time in my life; those days. It seems like everything was so carefree."

Don sat and pondered a moment before replying. "Yes, I guess they were."

Tony walked out from the kitchen with an uncorked bottle of red wine in his hand. He poured some into their glasses and gestured for them to take a sip. The wine was very smooth but thick in taste. It had real body and a deep satisfying finish. Don motioned for Tony to fill his glass which he did.

"I've been to Bordeaux, you know." Katy said, sipping the red liquid.

"Really? When was this." Don followed suit.

"A few years back… I guess ten now actually. I went on an exchange trip with some of the students from the U. It was amazing really, just the culture shock. I'd been taking French for 4 years by that point, and had ventured up to Quebec, in Canada, but the French of France is so different, such a completely different ideology there. You drink and eat and feast all day, you work to live, unlike here, especially in New York, where you live to work."

"Sounds boring." Don smirked to get a response. Katy scoffed and replied,

"Well some people enjoy that sort of thing, you know vacations. All work and no play makes for a very long and boring day."

"Just depends on how you see work. Sometimes work can be very rewarding."

"Did I say it wasn't?" she retorted.

"No, but aren't you on a vacation now?"

"Sabbatical. I've been working too long and too hard for just a vacation. They should owe me years of paid vacation days by now. I spoke with the dean and he allowed me three months."

"I see." Don took another sip of wine. "And how are you enjoying your sabbatical?"

"Quite. It's been eye opening, just seeing the things I haven't seen, being places I haven't been in years. I think for the last few weeks I'll fly out to France and drink Bordeaux right from the barrel." She laughed heartily and Don broke a teeth filled smile.

"How very Katy Konstantine of you." He mused.

"I like to think so!"

Tony appeared from the kitchen in a flurry; bringing two plates of fresh scallops covered in rich yellow Béarnaise sauce to their table.

"Enjoy!" he shouted.

Katy was the first to grab her fork and knife, but before she cut the first white chunk in half, she raised her wine glass in the air.

"A toast."

"To?" Don inquired.

"Friendship." She stated.

"To friendship and more." Their glasses clanged together and he drank quickly. After retrieving his fork and knife from the napkin, Don cut a scallop in two and took the first bite.

The sweetness and freshness of the fish was warmly complimented by the sour yet creamy taste of the Béarnaise sauce. Altogether, it was absolutely delicious, he had to admit.

"This is really good." He said between bites.

"I don't lie." Katy quipped. After a moment she said,

"So how is Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, the mega-corporation on the comeback: the underdog rising to the occasion, the Phoenix from its ashes?"

"You make it sound like we are destined for greatness."

"Aren't we?" Katy grinned.

"Well I hope so." Don put his fork down and patted his mouth with the napkin. "It's good. Michael and Peggy just helped shoe in Lincoln. That really boosted our sales, and we're really glad for that. It seems we'll clear quota."

"A celebration is in order then." She tipped the wine towards Don.

"You could say that." He paused a moment to drink and then continued, "The Governor's Election is next Friday."

"Yes I'm reading this all around the city. I also see your name in writing on the corner of all Rockefeller's billboards. Friends in high places?"

"Actually he approached me, while I was on vacation no less. He wanted someone to cover his election; I guess we were his choice."

"Well." Katy looked impressed. "Don Draper is rubbing elbows with the big boys these days."

Don just laughed quietly and ate more of his food.

"So word is spreading around the office of a party, nothing too big or too formal, invite only, of friends of the staff."

"Oh really?" he had Katy's attention.

"Yes, and I was wondering if you would like to join me." He breathed out, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Are you asking me on a date?" Don tried reading her face but it only held a blank expression of confusion.

"Yes… yes I am."

Katy took a deep gulp of Bordeaux, finishing off her glass before replying.

"Then my answer is yes." She smiled. The words set in, and Don's expression immediately shifted to elation.

"And so we'll dance." He laughed.

* * *

Roger Sterling was dressed his best this particular Friday. Jane had made him wear a nice grey tweed suit and vest, with matching trousers. What Jane didn't know was that he absolutely hated tweed. He wore it for her anyways.

He didn't know why he was dressed his best, but he felt assertive and more authoritative than usual, which isn't really a surprise.

Roger opened the door to Don's office after having a brief chat with him and walked into the creative room to see how the peasants were working out their ads. As usual not much was being done, except for the girl who always had her nose in something. He slightly resented her, for working so hard. He could always harp on the men for slacking but, to be honest, she barely every slacked. After fetching a drink, Joan caught his eye through the vertical window in her office. She was knee deep in folders and paper, glasses straddling her perfect nose; eyes were glued to the paper, and her gold pen waiting in her hand.

Roger waltzed from the creative room and knocked on Joan's door.

"Come in Roger." She said quickly. As asked, he walked into her office.

"How did you know it was me?" he slyly inquired, sitting into the chair opposite her desk.

"I can see you in the corner of my eye." She looked up slowly from her work.

"So you're watching me?" he cocked a brow.

"You were watching me. You stood there a lot longer than you thought you did." She smirked connivingly.

"Alright, but can you blame me?"

"I'm like your mother's vase now Roger; Look, don't touch."

He let out a bold laugh and said; "Ouch, I thought we were friends."

"We are Roger, and let's keep it that way." She began writing once again. "What did you need?" she didn't look up from the paper.

"Lane tells me that you are leading the charge on this party next Friday."

"That's correct."

"On Falco's suggestion."

She put the pen into its slot around her neck and removed the glasses from her face. Roger shifted almost uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yes, Michael suggested I take charge. I am the Director of Agency Operations, and this is an agency operation."

"I'm just saying." Roger sighed indifferently.

"Saying what?" Joan raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips looking angry.

"Nothing, look forget I said anything okay?" he leaned back in the stout chair. "Have you got catering in yet?"

"No I haven't called anyone yet, I will this afternoon when I have time. Right now, I have too much on my hands."

"Let me do it." Roger stated.

"Really?" she seemed surprised.

"Why not, I'm free all afternoon. It takes a load off your back."

"Alright." She smiled. "Nothing too fancy; Lane wants semi-formal."

"Done." He stood from the chair. "Oh and Lane wanted me to give you this."

Roger reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope with some writing on it.

"It's from the partners. Hope you like it." He smirked and left Joan's office.

Inside the envelope was one small business card. In bold writing there was,

"_Joan Holloway"_

And succeeding below, were the words,

"_Junior Partner"_


	22. Chapter 22- The Votes Are In

_**Chapter 22- The Votes Are In**_

"The day I take advice from Kenny Cosgrove is the day I die." Pete Campbell pouted.

"Hey, I'm just saying, if you want to grab more accounts, extend your hands a little further." Ken inhaled from his cigarette, which was loosely dangling from his fingertips.

"Look, I'm doing fine. I'm talking with Mohawk Airlines right now, and I'm pretty sure they're confident enough to come back to us. I just would like a bigger office. That pole is right at my doorstep and it's confining me. Not to mention I have no windows."

"Nothing I can do about that." Ken spurted, leaning off of Pete's desk.

"Well I was going to ask you if you would…."

"See I'm gonna stop you right there pal." Ken butted the cigarette against the underside of Pete's desk.

"Hey! That's my property!" he yelped.

"You don't have an ashtray!" Ken retorted.

"Because I don't smoke!" Pete shot back.

"That's your problem, not mine! Besides, I'm not the one trying to pawn off my closet for prime real estate by the big boys." Ken began walking towards the door.

"What if I paid you?"

"Money isn't enough to buy your way out of solitary confinement Petey." Ken laughed as he walked out the door.

Pete reclined in his chair and rubbed his eyes in a deep sigh. "Why me?" he thought to himself. "I wonder how Tammy is." The thought crept into his head, and he imagined his daughter in her crib. Her adorable face made him grin. The thought perished quickly.

"I need a bigger office."

He stood from the chair and left the office walking towards Roger Sterling's sprawling estate at the end of the hall.

Caroline was sitting at her desk and as Mr. Campbell approached, she warned him.

"Roger is on a call. Wait a minute."

Pete scoffed impatiently and leaned against the wall of Roger's office. It took a good moment for the call to end, and once Pete saw the light go off, he swung the door open and barged into the room.

"Pete. What can I do for you this fine day." Roger smiled as the voice of Caroline scolding Pete drowned in the background.

"Well my office is much too small to support any real business." He sat down on the couch, one hand on each knee. "I don't mean to be blunt, but I need a new office. One where I can conduct business with real dignity."

"Why do you need an office to conduct business?" Roger lit up. "You're an account man. You go out and visit people. You don't bring them here."

"Of course I do." Pete seemed insulted and stood back up. "I bring in clients often."

"Then use the conference room." Roger tapped the ashes off his cigarette.

"No, I need my office. They like to see my place of work."

"Fine, Boy Wonder, what do you want me to do?" Roger swiveled to face the window.

"Well, since I draw in most of the money for this company, I was thinking that you and I could switch offices."

"Absolutely not." Roger swung back to face Campbell, a stern look on his face.

"I think it's completely reasonable." He stood with a surety in his voice and air. "We all know you barely do anything around here."

"Oh really." Roger narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips tightly shut. "You'll be staying in your office."

"What? This is ridiculous. Be reasonable Roger."

"Go peddle your problems on someone else's doorstep."

"I need a new office. Can we consider buying more space?"

"Sure thing Petey, just write us a check and we'll buy you all the space you want." Roger slid his glasses on his nose and began reading the daily paper in front of him.

"I'll confront the other partners. They'll agree with my case." He stated. Roger pushed the paper forward and looked over to Pete who was nearing the door.

"Bert? He doesn't even have an office. You're in line behind him. Why would he let you have an office before him? Lane, maybe. If you can win him over with your charm. Don, well Don hasn't liked you since you kissed his ass daily back when I owned this company. We also have a newest junior partner, so step aside Petey. We're making the announcement at the party next week."

Peter Campbell let out a frustrated struggle and left the office in a puff. Roger laughed and continued reading the paper.

Once he was outside in a cloud of fitted tantrum, he marched to Joan's office and barged in.

"Joan, I need you to do something about my office situation." Pete's voice held a desperate ring to it, and Joan picked it up.

"What is wrong with your office Mr. Campbell." She looked up from her work.

"It's much too small. There are no windows, and when you open the door, a support beam is placed directly at the entrance."

"That is unfortunate, but there is nothing I can do at the moment. All of the other offices are full."

"I know." He paused a moment. "I was hoping you could get someone to switch."

"Who?" a feeling in her stomach formed, and needless to say: rightly so.

"Roger's office."

"Mr. Campbell, I'm afraid your effort is a fruitless one. Roger Sterling will never leave his office, voluntarily at least, and I doubt you have the force to make him move."

"No, but you could persuade him! We all know he's very fond of you. You could use your womanly charms to convince him." Pete's face lit up and Joan's face reddened in embarrassment.

"I beg your pardon!"

Pete's face contorted in confusion. "What seems to be the matter?"

"The mere idea that you think I would do that, let alone for some petty argument, means to me that you need to learn respect, Mr. Campbell. Now leave, I have mountains of work to catch up since my time off. These secretaries had no idea what they were doing, and no one got anything done."

"Joan.." he pleaded.

"Leave Pete, now." She gesture towards the awaiting door. Pete slowly showed himself out the door. He then backpedaled towards the creative room, where Peggy, Stan, Mike and Ken were sitting down and talking. He tightened his tie and walked in confidently.

"I know this is last minute, but I need someone to switch offices with me."

"Don't look at me." Mike said. "I'm already bunking with Kenny." Pete turned his attention to Peggy.

"I need my office. I have all of my work in there and it's just the right size as is." She spoke up.

Pete scowled loudly and marched out of the creative room.

"What's got him in a twist?" Stan mumbled.

"Anything. He probably stubbed his toe on his ego." Peggy replied. The 4 musquateers laughed and continued work.

"I have a meeting with the Sony execs in two hours and I need something to go on." Ken began.

"What product are we aimed for?" Mike asked.

"Those miniature television sets that sit in the palm of your hand."

"They make those now?" Stan raised a brow.

"What can I say? The Japs know it all." Ken smiled.

"Next we'll be having a phone we can just walk around and take with us." Stan joked.

"That would be really neat. No need to worry about missing calls, just being about to reach into your pocket and dial! I think Sony should work on that." Ken said.

There was a brief silence while the four friends sat in thought. Ken was aiming for an angle that included how cool and revolutionary the TV was. Stan was thinking more of the futuristic element. Peggy was just wondering what Stan was thinking, and it was Mike who spoke up first.

"We hit the futurism of the set. It's small, workable, goes anywhere. It's portable, and that's what is interesting about it."

"Ignoring the fact that you can't even really see what is on the screen because it's four inches wide." Peggy butted in.

"I guess, but Mike has a point. How many people will see this and think "Wow, I really couldn't watch anything on that." Or would more people think, "Wow how cool of a TV." Ken gestured with his hand towards the crude drawing outlines.

"Sony, the future comes with you." Peggy grinned.

"Bang." Ken pointed at Peggy in approval. "That's what I needed."

"Wait. Have the girl in the ad staring at the set from a side angle: it's in her hand. We see her profile, and the television sets'. She's smiling, maybe an odd colour background but the focus is on the screen: below it reads, "Sony. The future is in the palm of your hand." Mike closed with his hands clenched together, waiting for a response.

"Boom!" Ken stood up and grinned. "This is why I love you guys. It's perfect." He shouted to the heavens. Ken threw his coat back on and began leaving the creative room. "Write that down before you forget!" he yelled as he made his way towards the shared office.

"Nice one Mikey." Stan happily walked over to the paper board and began laying out the advertisement. Peggy had a look of happiness as well, but some thought of dissatisfaction was read through her eyes.

"Hey, you came up with the idea, I refined it." He pointed to Peggy with his pen. "Don't you frown."

"I know, but it just seem like every time a great idea comes along, it's from you."

"No it's from you. You always say something that inspires me to think deeper. Without you, there is no bright idea! No Tesla, no Edison. No Edison, no light bulb. You're my Tesla." He smiled heartily and Peggy grinned from the corner of her mouth.

"Thanks Mike."

He simpered quickly and Joan walked into the creative room, her stiletto's clacking against the tiles.

"Michael, can I borrow you for a moment?" her gay expression heightened his senses.

"Of course." Mike threw down the paper onto the table and followed her into her office.

"Number one, Lane wanted me to let you know he would like to have a word with you in his office sometime today."

"Alright, and number two?"

"Green or blue."

"What am I bidding on?"

"Don't think, just answer." She kindly shook her head. Mike shifted his weight onto his one leg and pondered.

"Blue."

"Blue it is then."

"For what?"

"The table tops. We need to cover them with something. None of this, grubby grey, or white."

"Party planning Joannie." He chuckled.

"It's good to be prepared you know!"

"I'm aware! What I'm not aware of is what I should match myself accordingly to." He smirked at her.

She responded quickly, "Here." Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small piece of cloth and handed it to him.

"A blue… rag?" his eyebrow cocked and mouth raised in question.

"That's a small piece of the dress."

"Alright, but I don't know what it looks like, the folding, pattern, or what is on it."

"Exactly."

"So I have to guess! What if I'm wrong?" he sounded outraged in a playful way.

"Then it will be your fault." She winked coyly.

"That's not fair." He announced tipping his nose.

"Neither is life Mike, get used to it. Now go and see Lane." She tapped him on the nose with her index finger and left the room.

"Women." He scoffed loudly, closing the door behind him.

* * *

**ELECTION NIGHT**

_**Friday, August 7**__**th**__**, 1965: 10:15 p.m**_

For the first time in company history, it seemed more that Roger Sterling was running the show than anyone else. He smooth talked his way into a good deal with the catering and fixtures. The tablecloths were from his house: luckily they had ten in the same shade of blue. The drinks were from Cavanaugh's Bar down the road, to which Dallas Sylko, the owner, had an outstanding favour owed, and the music was brought to you in full part by Peggy's good friends in the underground blues world. The lights were cut low and the friends flooded in. There was a large TV on a table at the end of the main room where the secretaries' desks normally sat and the two doors on the conference room had been unhinged, and removed.

The party was fun and loud, but also a quaint one. All the faces were familiar and kind: nobody to impress from the outside world, just friends or family.

Roger never left work that day, simply pushing back his evening and getting Jane to ride alone to the office. She was decently dressed in a brightly lit yellow dress. "It suits her well, but she looks like a slut" he thought. Roger wore his every day attire, as usual.

Ken and Cynthia Cosgrove were the first to roll in, Cynthia was dolled up in red and Ken was in a deep coloured plaid suit. Not long after, Pete and Trudy Campbell walked in smiling and shaking hands with Ken and Cynthia. Peggy and her friends followed them in, filling up the room. Stan had brought an old friend from another firm and the secretaries had all brought their boyfriends or husbands. The polls opened at 8:00 and that was precisely when Don showed up with Katy on his arm. Harry Crane quickstepped in with Jennifer, preceded by Michael and Joan. Lane was one of the last people to arrive with Rebecca on his arm. Once the big players had all filed in, Roger cranked up the music and broke out the drinks.

"To Rockefeller. For, undoubtedly giving us the edge." Roger raised his glass followed by the crowd.

"To the edge. For undoubtedly giving us Rockefeller." Don toasted

"Here, here." Roger replied tipping his glass to Don. Everyone agreed and drank down the first round quickly.

Pete pushed his way through the small congregation standing in the doorway of the conference room and began talking over Ken.

"Exciting night no doubt." He looked around as if surveying the area for the first time.

"Yes, I guess so." Ken replied, annoyed that Pete cut him down.

"I can't wait to see us win. I hear the point's margin was growing."

"Not so. In the last few weeks Harriman was closing the gap. Something about "the poor rising up to take their rightful wage" or however he put it." Ken retorted. Pete was confused and thus retracted his previous statement.

"Oh, I guess I was misinformed."

"Politics, shmolitics. Who cares?" Stan drank down a gulp of whiskey.

"We do." Mike laughed with Ken and Peggy.

"Whatever!" He scoffed sarcastically. "I think the only reason why we're really here is because of the ladies."

"Really Stanley Rizzo and how is that?"

"Choose your next few words, very carefully my friend." Ken teethed.

"Well we all look mediocre, whereas you girls get glamorous with those dresses."

"A backhanded compliment: not bad." Peggy sarcastically replied.

"Take what you can get." He laughed with the group.

Roger walked over to the widening group with Jane at his side.

"Aren't we all looking marvelous tonight." Jane smiled.

"Yeah, I like that dress Joan, nice colour." Roger quipped.

"Thank you Roger." She smiled.

"And of course dear Mikey with the matching tie over here." Roger stepped to shake Mike's hand and Mike met it.

"Expect nothing less." He continued shaking it and then let go as he said. "Jane, you are ravishing in yellow, I'm sure the envy of many here."

"Indeed. It is your colour." Joan added.

"Why thank you." Jane smiled.

Don made his way through the bustling secretaries to introduce his girl.

"Everyone, this is Katy, and Katy, this is everyone. There, I did it." Don smiled and everyone laughed quietly.

"Nice to meet you all." She said. Katy was in a black and white cream dress that complimented her hair perfectly. The shading was just right to attract attention to each individual cloak of the dress, but not rip away from other important areas. In short, she looked gorgeous, and Don was noticing.

Suddenly Walter Cronkite came blasting through the speakers of the TV saying,

"This important news update for New York. The gap between candidates Nelson A. Rockefeller and W. Averell Harriman are in a tight race. Nearly finished half of the voting by now, it's up to the counters to finalize the results on who will be the next Governor of New York. As it stands at 10:19 p.m. eastern time, it is 34 districts to 29, favouring Rockefeller. The upcoming districts are in Harriman's favour in pre-voting counts, and could be the deciding factor in this shaky race. Updates, as we hear them." The picture of the famous newscaster then switched to a film of the board counter, stating Rockefeller: 34, Harriman: 29.

"Well at least we're ahead." Peggy said.

"That doesn't really mean anything." Pete cut her off. "This could switch in 5 minutes with the way it's going tonight. This is almost worse than the Kennedy Nixon election."

"Except then we thought we had a surefire step to Nixon winning." Kenny mused.

"I had money on that election too." Pete angrily splurged.

"Can't take the bet, get out of the ring." Roger smiled weakly.

"Easy for you to say moneybags."

"I can't help it if my father was smart."

"No, I guess you couldn't." his face turning slightly beet in anger.

"Peter." Trudy clenched his arm.

"Alright! Sorry, just must be the drinks." He brushed it off.

* * *

Rockefeller: 34

Harriman: 31

* * *

Upbeat dance music began playing and the girls slowly pulled their men towards the floor and began shaking to the undeniable beat. The music was of a fading generation but still was a "bloody good time" as Lane Pryce said. After the quick dances, slower dances came on

"Did I choose the right suit?" Michael asked as he and Joan spun in the low light.

"You chose the right suit." She smiled. "I'm surprised at how well you did with just that one piece."

"Innovation is a facet of my character I guess." He falsified the humbleness in his voice.

"I would say that. I would also say you're getting a little ego driven."

"Hey!"

"What? I don't want you turning out like them." She said complacently. Mike beamed and replied.

"Certainly not." He moved the placement of his right hand to the small of Joan's back and pulled her closer.

"Feeling bold are we." She rested her head on his shoulder, looking out into the sea of other dancers.

"I like seeing your face better." He whispered into her ear.

"I'm just making sure you don't get too bold." She smirked to herself.

* * *

Rockefeller: 36

Harriman: 34

* * *

Don and Katy were at the other end of the dance, much more awkwardly dancing for the first time. Normally Don was much smoother with these types of things, but for the first time, the girl was trying to lead.

"Your old man lead often I'm guessing?" Don mused.

"That's just the way I grew up dancing. Sorry if it bugs you."

"Not at all." Don took a moment to continue. "It's just interesting."

"My father taught me to dance. He said that any real man would appreciate the woman taking initiative and making her own path instead of following in the steps of society."

Don raised a brow in surprise. "Well said."

They continued to dance for a longer while, but Katy hadn't made the move to lean in on Don, and he was getting worried that she didn't want to. He had previously tried to move closer, but she had somehow squirreled out of his embrace. "All I Have to Do Is Dream" by the Everly Brothers came on and they changed to a very slow pace.

Katy pushed in slowly and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck looking deeply into the ocean of his eyes.

"You were waiting for this, I'm assuming?"

"What told you that?"

"You, trying to force me into it the whole evening."

"I guess I'm not very subtle." He laughed.

"Not really." She looked into his eyes and gently pecked him on the lips, catching him off guard. Don reacted instantly by kissing her back, much more passionately.

* * *

Rockefeller: 37

Harriman: 36

* * *

"Oh quit staring at everyone."

"I'm just looking around!" Roger said innocently.

"Fine." Jane settled. "It would be nice to receive a compliment around here."

"You did! Not 10 minutes ago too."

"From someone else!"

"You're beautiful, does that help?"

"Well now you're just trying to shut me up."

"What do you want me to say! Nothing at all then! If I say one thing I'm trapped, if I say another, I'm trapped. Give me some leg room!" he nearly shouted through the loud song.

"Alright sorry. I just would like to hear you say it every now and then."

"Okay you got it, I will try." Roger responded, in a desperate attempt to alleviate the situation.

* * *

Rockefeller: 37

Harriman: 37

* * *

"I'm getting tired of dancing." Katy said

"Alright we can do something else." Don suggested.

"And what would that be?" she smiled slyly

"I don't know, it's up to you." He winked.

"Maybe you could show me your office?" Katy felt a small burn in her stomach

"After you dear." Don smirked and winked.

* * *

Rockefeller: 39

Harriman: 38

* * *

"You know I love you right?" Michael admitted with some hesitation.

"I know you do." Joan pulled off of his shoulder looked into the ocean of blue.

"Do you."

"Do I what?" she avoided the question.

"Why don't you like saying that. I think I've heard you say it once."

"I don't know Mike… I just…. Don't know."

"That's not bad." He said assuredly.

"No?" she asked in a high tone.

"When love binds it blinds, and when love blinds, it lingers. Like the afterglow of a lightbulb, even after it's out you can still see the glow from the filament for a while."

Joan thought a long moment and the replied.

"I love you."

Mike felt a deep heat in is heart and he broke out in the most dumbfound smile.

"I want you." She continued, looking away and biting her lip lightly.

"I want you too."

"No, like… I want you" she mumbled.

"I don't…. oh, I get it." He winked at her.

Joan and Michael pushed through the crowd towards the fringe and exited quietly.

* * *

Rockefeller: 40

Harriman: 40

* * *

Roger was half asleep on the couch in the main room when the results came blasting through the television set. Many people had petered out and either gone home, been too drunk to do so and collapsed on office furniture, or were glued to the television set in front of their face.

It was nearly 3:00 when final verified results were broadcasted to the world.

"It was a brilliant race tonight in the great state of New York, but alas only one political member can rise to the seat of Governor for the state. Will Nelson Rockefeller keep the high standing seat he has, or would W. Averell Harriman steal it from him? The race started fairly displaced, with Rockefeller quickly taking the lead, and Harriman trailing in his wide wake. After a few hours the lone southern industrial sectors were picking up on Harriman's side, closing the gap: a "gap shutting" a few attribute to his stake in the Harriman Railway Company. None the less, in the latter hours of the race, the gap was nearly dead even, at midnight it sitting with 43 and 43, and two sectors to go. Finally at 12:30, the votes were counted, recounted, and counted a third time. At 3:04, eastern standard time on August 8th, we bring the true final results. With 45 divisions clamoring for his name, Nelson Rockefeller will hold his seat as Governor of New York." Cronkite concluded.

A few hurrahs broke from the small group nailed to the set and even Roger stood throwing up a toast.

"To those of us who survived and are here as witnesses, Job well done. Now get back to work. It's tomorrow already." He laughed.

"Here, here!" Ken shouted in a drunken stupor. Roger spilt some of his whiskey in his suit

"Shit." He mumbled. "Favourite suit."

Mike opened the door of his shared office and saw Ken sitting in a swivel chair being rolled around by Roger.

"Did we win?" he fixed his hair and shoved his dress shirt back into the folds of his pants, pulling them up. Roger flung the chair that Ken was in towards Mike. Ken stuck out his feet and stopped the chair just short of Mike.

"Yeah we did! What a score hey? 45 to 45."

Joan walked out of the office behind him, adjusting her hair as well. She blushed slightly seeing the men watch her.

"Sorry my dress was coming undone. I needed help." She burned it off

"Of course." Ken smirked.

Katy was lying on Don's hairy chest in his office when they heard the news.

"I guess you got the big bang then tonight." She mused.

"I guess I did." Don laughed. "A lot of work."

"It's never easy pleasing people." Katy agreed.

"Tonight I'm just glad I pleased one person." He looked deeply into her eyes. They kissed.

"Me too Don, me too."


	23. Chapter 23- A BigDeal

**Chapter 23:**

_**Late August, 1965**_

"Soon, Mr. Falco, soon we can grant you a raise. Just wait until next trimester and ask me again." Lane Pryce closed his account book and adjusted the frames on his nose, looking into Mike's defeated eyes.

"Alright Mr. Pryce. I understand." He turned from his boss and opened the office door behind him.

"Michael,"

"Yes?" he paused in the doorway.

"It's Lane." The Englishman smiled. Mike let out a half-hearted smirk and walked into the hallway.

"Mikey!" Ken shouted from down the corridor: he quickstepped to catch up with Mike as they walked towards their office.

"We bagged Sony yesterday." Ken's mood was showing on his face.

"Of course we did." Mike smiled and shook his hand. "Solid plan, solid execution, solid account."

"Solid." Ken repeated as he pushed the handle and the door to their joint office swung open. Ken sat down at his desk and pulled out the file folder on Sony, sprawling the contract onto the desk. Michael smirked, staring at it, and then pushed his briefcase onto his desk: unclipping the locks. When he did, a few papers fell from the case and landed on the floor. At once he scrambled to amass the pages together.

Ken picked up a piece on the ground, read the first line and spoke,

"What's this for?"

Michael's embarrassment shone through his cheeks in red,

"Just my dabbling in poetry."

"You write?" Ken began reading down the page.

"Well… well… you see I just do in my free time." Michael walked over to interrupt his reading. Ken pushed him away and continued down the page.

"This is pretty good… good use of metaphor's here." Ken sat down and continued reading. Mike leaned on the edge of his desk.

"Look Kenny, just don't tell anyone… it's kind of a secret for me."

"I know the feeling." He mumbled as he finished the page. "Are you published?"

"Published? As in, in a magazine or paper?"

"Yes, like that." Ken grinned.

"No… I've never even considered it."

"I know a guy, he's mainly for short stories but he knows many, many poetry publishers. If you want, I could send it in to him?"

Michael stood up and thought for a long moment. He pondered what it would look like to be published, the accolades he could sustain, the feeling of success. Then he weighed it against his job, and saw the fruitlessness in that effort.

"I don't think so Kenny. If I ever got caught it would…"

"It would look like you're devoting more time to your writing than your copywriting. I understand."

"You write poetry!" Mike was riveted.

"Not quite." Ken stood up and reached into his top drawer pulling out an older magazine.

"The Atlantic Monthly!" Michael cried. "You have a story in here? I read this often!"

"Yes, well I did write a lot in high school, thought I'd follow through with it."

Mike flipped through the magazine and found the story by Ben Hargrove.

"Could I borrow this? Maybe read it over?"

Ken seemed embarrassed by the gesture, but by now he was used to the interest, and differently this time was the attention from a man of his literate understanding.

"Alright, but the one condition is that I can send this to my friend." Ken flipped the magazine back in gesture.

"You have a deal." They both exchanged items and shook hands.

There was sudden boom through the intercom system, "Peter Campbell here for both of you."

Ken leaned over and pressed the reply. "Send the bum in." they laughed.

"I heard that." Pete said as he entered the quaint office. "Well I see now I would never have wanted this office; too small." He was looking around the area and scanning it with his eyes.

"What is it Pete?" Ken rubbed his eyebrows, seemingly in distaste.

"Well a congratulations on getting Sony." Pete reached out and shook both of their hands quickly. "I've been on the phone this past while with Viacynth, and I've been waiting for their ad to self-destruct. I watched the commercials, read through their ads and honestly, its garbage compared to what we put together. I've befriended one of the high ups, I won't bore you with the details, but they're numbers are dropping, and so they dropped McCain-Ericksen. Viacynth is on the market once again!" Pete was smiling broadly.

"What makes you think they'll want to join us?" Ken lit up.

"I had my man put in a good word: he spread about some of our good fortune this past while with Lincoln, Sony, so on and so forth. I got a call back. They want a meeting!"

"Well that is good news." Mike smiled.

"Yes, and if you have any questions about it, just address it to my secretary. The head man seemed to only want to speak with me." Pete turned and made his way to the door. "Oh, and there is a company meeting in an hour." He shut the door behind him.

"It's funny you know, he's just so humble! If he had a beard and a sense of dignity I'd call him Jesus." Mike mused as Ken chuckled.

After a few minutes he stepped outside of his office and shut his door just in time to see Peggy dip into the creative room. He brushed his hair over with his hand and walked past the offices, breezing into the open space.

"You hear about Kenny's good news?" he opened.

"Who hasn't?" she grinned.

"I guess I was the last one." He walked over to the drinks table and grabbed a glass.

"This early?" Peggy cocked a brow.

"I'm getting water, but thank you mother." He ran down the hall quickly to empty lunchroom. Well, almost empty.

Peter Campbell was standing with one of the secretary's and seemed to have cornered her. Mike poked his head around the bend and could see them, his view slightly obscured because of the cabinet, but he could also hear what they were saying.

"… Oh I dunno Petey… this doesn't sound like a good idea… maybe we shouldn't"

"Look it's just this one time. Hotel Americano, 7:30. No one even has to know."

"Fine… I'll see you there then." The girl pecked him on the cheek and quickly walked in Mike's direction. He spun around to avoid being seen, but accidently positioned himself in her upcoming path. As she left the lunchroom, she turned and ran into him with a hot mug of coffee, spilling it everywhere. Mike screamed in pain and the surprise. He suddenly had the attention of the office.

"Oh goodness!" she covered her mouth in horror. "Mr. Falco, I am so, sorry!"

Mike flung his hands at the ground letting to coffee drip.

"It's alright, we all have accidents." He took off his vest and saw that the blue shirt underneath was stained brown.

"What is going on here?" Joan demanded as she appeared from her office sanctuary. "Janice you really have to be more careful, especially with hot drinks. This is the second time this month." She walked over to the incident site.

"I know, Ms. Holloway, I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I swear." The girl was nearly trembling in fear.

"Good. Today, you'll spend the afternoon at the drycleaners with Mr. Falco's suit, and as a token you'll foot the bill."

The normally bubbling secretary looked at the floor where the broken mug was laid out in pieces; her expression that of a young schoolgirl who was about to receive the belt.

"Of course Ms. Holloway… I'm sorry Mr. Falco."

"It's alright, lucky I carry an extra suit for emergencies" His slight smile helped liven the girls' mood. He tossed her the wetted vest. "You'll get the rest soon."

"Clean this up, then back to work." Joan assterted.

Mike began walking down the hall; Joan following him.

"Sorry about that, she can be such a klutz sometimes."

"Well I should be thanking you, it's not often I get free dry-cleaning."

"You're welcome." She cocked an eyebrow and smirked, leaning back into her office. Mike watched as she played coy closing the door on him. Once she had closed the door, he observed Roger Sterling reeling out from his office.

"Caroline, could you go to the liquor store down the street and buy me cognac?"

"Mr. Sterling, I feel that's highly unorthodox during wor…."

"Here's a hundred, buy yourself something nice. Clothes wise I mean… Do you have any other clothes than that dress?" He slammed the door behind himself.

Michael walked over to Caroline who was in slight shock from the exchange. "Could I go in?"

"I don't see why not." She mumbled. He turned from the older woman who was grabbing her coat to leave, and pushed open the grand office's egress.

"Caroline, I don't really care if it's unorthodox, just go down the street, take a break and buy me the bottle!" He nearly shouted as the portal to the real world closed behind Mike.

"I think she's actually doing that at the moment." Mike spoke up.

"Oh." Roger flung around his chair to face the younger man in his splendor. "Mikey, pleasant surprise. I'd offer you a drink, but well, I don't have one." He gestured to the cart of open empty bottles.

"That's alright." Michael walked to an open chair and took a seat.

"Nice shirt." He snorted. "So? What's on your mind." Roger began.

"Viacynth Chemicals: the one that got away."

"What about her? I thought McCain snagged that pooch." Roger concluded.

"They did, but it looks like they lost control of the hound."

"Oh really? And who led you to this privileged information?"

"Pete Campbell."

"So you came to gloat then?"

"Quite the opposite actually. I figure we can both see the sun on this shining day." Mike grinned.

"Both hey? I'm listening."

"I think our distaste of Peter Campbell is mutual, and so I propose a mutually beneficial account split…"

"Now you have my attention." Roger smiled deceitfully.

* * *

_**Conference Room: 11:30**_

"Good morning everybody." Roger began. "I'm sorry for pulling you all away from your countless duties, but we have a few announcements. Lane would you like to start?"

"Of course." Lane stepped forward. "Most of you realize that we incurred Lincoln Cars a few weeks ago, a monumental and important step in this company's success. A car is all the prestige we could ask for, and can open many gates to future. With that in loom, I'd like you all to remain on your toes. This may be a breather into the door but could be our downfall if we loosen our belt buckles. I'm just encouraging you all to work your hardest in the upcoming weeks. Our phones have been ringing off the hook, so let's keep up this bout of luck!" Lane smiled and a few people clapped.

"Where's Pete?" Stan leaned over and asked Mike.

"I think he's at a meeting."

"During a companywide announcement?"

"Must have been important." Mike's eyes never left Roger's golden face.

"Secondly." Roger stepped forward once again. "I'd like to announce that we have a new member joining the upper echelons of power. Joan will you please step forward."

From the bubbling crowd, Joan Holloway made her way confidently to the front of the group. She turned to face the wondering audience.

"All the partners have agreed; with recent events on the upswing, it would be good to have our Director of Agency Operations placed at our head table making the important decisions that need to be done. That said, we promoted Joan to Junior Partner at the firm." Roger smiled as did many people around them.

There were loud whistles being blown and a brash round of applause resounded through the room. Mike was hit by a wave of awkward jealousy. This woman whom he loved, was surpassing him, in great strides, and he hadn't even got much of a raise. A hollow pit formed in his stomach as he clapped slowly, and methodically.

Joan was absorbing the rays of excitement exuding from the crowd in front of her. She felt a great accomplishment in her heart and mind.

* * *

In a busy restaurant two miles away, Peter Campbell was waiting patiently at the table he had been presented. There were two empty spots adjacent to himself, where two representatives from Viacynth were to be sitting shortly: or at least as Pete assumed they would. By this point, they were half an hour late and he was getting restless.

Pete glared down at his watched and scoffed. The waitress walked over to him;

"Would you like to order now sir?"

"I guess I shall." He mumbled in anger. "The filet mignon with garlic mashed potatoes please." Just as he was handing the menu to the waitress, two men in suits walked through the doors. Pete stood up and buttoned his shirt to meet them. His smile vanished quickly as he noticed who was approaching him.

"Roger, Michael. What are you two doing here?"

"A follow up on a red herring." Roger smiled and took a seat. "Sherry. Neat" he said the waitress.

"Same, but on the rocks." Michael added to the order. Pete took a moment to absorb the information.

"So there is not meeting?"

"Oh there is a meeting." Roger began. "But just not with Viacynth."

"Then what is this about?"

"Pete, we are going to acquire Viacynth, and when we do, we want you to hand the account over to Roger." Mike said blatantly. The drinks arrived as Pete was holding back a tantrum of rage

"And why would I do that?" he said sarcastically.

"It's in your best interest." Roger swigged the drink. "Trust me."

"It seems that it's more in your best interest, no?" Pete rebutted. Roger's enthusiastic smile annoyed Pete even more. "I think I'll be staying overhead of this one." Pete stood up about to leave.

"Why don't you tell me about Laura." Roger reached into his pocket, stared at his silver lighter, then lit the cigarette he had reached for.

"Laura? You mean Laura; Joan's secretary?" He seemed puzzled.

"Yes, that Laura." Roger inhaled on the cigarette.

"She's alright, kind of friendly. Does a good job. What does this have to do with anything?"

"I dunno Pete, why don't you tell me." Mike stood to meet with Pete's attempt at leaving.

"I fail to see what you're getting at."

"Hotel Americano, 7:30."

Pete looked phased for a moment, then refocused his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about.

"I do. You, Laura, tonight? Maybe you should keep your conversations more private than our lunchroom, no?" Mike smiled witfully.

Pete stood a moment in silence.

He responded after a good moment. "The account is yours. Do we understand each other?"

Roger stood up and reached out for Pete's hand. Pete didn't move for it.

"Understood." Roger withdrew his reach, just as a defeated Pete Campbell left the diner, as sour as a granny smith.

They both smiled and looked at each other.

* * *

**SCDP, 7:00 P.M.**

Mike was alone in his office sifting through the files of the old Viacynth account. The ideas they had were still fresh and strong as they were months and months ago. He pulled of few of their best ideas and left the remaining. He placed them on the table and opened their main idea on the pitch. After reading into the few lines following his writing, he heard a tap at the door as Peggy walked in.

"Mikey!" she saw he was deep into reading. "Aren't you going to come celebrate?"

"Celebrate which?" His eyes never left the workload.

"Well… Joan's promotion… I thought you'd be joining us."

"Too much work to do. You girls have fun."

"Ken really wanted you to be there though, it would just be him and Harry!" she was trying to prod him into going.

"Then I'll guess he'll stay chapped, won't he." Once again, his eyes never left the paper. Peggy backed off in confusion, slowly withdrawing herself.

"I'm sorry to intrude then." She began walking out. "Don't let it get the best of you."

Michael looked up; "What will?"

Peggy simply nodded and closed the door behind her.

Mike wiped his face over with his hands in anger, then looked back down to his work. He brought his fist down onto the table in resentment.

Joan was not far behind her, swinging the door open without knocking, and then yelling for the girls to go on a bit without her.

"Busy day?" she opened.

"You could say that. Just going over the details on Viacynth."

"Mr. Campbell informed me on that. I'm glad to see they are coming back." Joan smiled. Michael didn't share the same enthusiasm and simply pushed the spectacles up further on his nose and turned the page.

"Yes, as, am, I." he drew out the words in long breaths. Joan was slightly off-put.

"Take a break from this, come to Maxie's with us." She leaned down onto the desk, exposing more of the deep curvature of her cleavage. Mike was tempted for a moment looking to it, then her face.

"I really shouldn't. I have lots of work to do." He spun the chair slightly and then reached for the bottom drawer, sliding another folder into the cabinet.

"Why are you being like this?" Joan demanded.

"Like what?" He was playing dumb, and she knew it.

"You know what. You'd have died if I asked you this a month ago."

"Well I'm not dead, am I?" there was a greening to his eyes that Joan observed when they met with hers. Something she hadn't seen in him before. It worried her at first, and the she had recognized where she had seen it before. In Rogers, in Lanes, in Paul Kinzies, in men who passed her by: it was the green of envy.

Joan leaned back slowly off the desk. "I never thought you of all people, you would act this way."

"What way?"

Joan sat opposite him in a chair. "Jealousy is like a stomach bug. It's imperceptible to the human eye, smaller than we can imagine, and unstoppable if it gets caught. It flares up in the person it reaches, and takes hold in them, poisoning the things in their stomach until inevitably, they come up."

There was a hollow defeat in Michael's head when he knew he had been caught. He wished, menacingly, that she hadn't been so wise to him. That she didn't know him so well, so that he could draw the anger out for days. He knew that it wasn't the right thing to do though, and so he finally said two words,

"I'm sorry."

He stood up, and walked over to her, standing her up with his one hand. Gently he placed his left hand on her neck and kissed her, holding it a moment as she placed her hand on his cheek.

"I'll come with you tonight." He mumbled.

"Good, I knew you would."

Mike smiled at her, Joan smiled back and then she slowly looked to the ground in fright.

"What's wrong sweety? I really am sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I take it back."

"I forgot to tell you something… It just has been slipping my mind all day."

"Well, what is it?"

"Well… I didn't get my present this month…"

"Your present?" his mind wandered a moment, then his jaw dropped. "Oh! OH! Well that would mean… You're… you are…"

"Yes Michael, I'm pregnant."


	24. Chapter 24- It Never Rains In So-Cal

Chapter 24: It Never Rains In Southern California

(Please excuse the fact that I haven't posted anything in two months. I've been really busy. and creativity is hard.)

_**Early October, 1965**_

In a far dark corner of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce, Peter Campbell was kissing his secretary. Within the last week of August he framed his old secretary for laziness, and had her fired, suggesting that Janice; Ken and Michael's secretary, be the replacement.

"She isn't an expert"; Pete thought. "Mustn't have had very many lovers; bites too much."

"Why don't we go to the hotel this afternoon?" Pete suggested. "It's quieter there, and we won't have so many… distractions."

"Why don't we just do it here?" Janice rebutted smiling. Pete was taken aback.

"Alright." He laughed, pushing her into the large maintenance closet.

At that moment, Joan Holloway was walking down the hall beside them and making her way to fetch a bottle of Xerox alcohol. "I should be making some secretary do this." She thought. Lane Pryce caught her attention as he was quickstepping towards Roger's office.

"Partner's meeting, 2:30 sharp." He motioned to the conference room behind her.

"Alright, I hope it's good news." She smiled.

"Indeed it is." Lane smiled in return. As she put her hand onto the closet handle, Pete Campbell nearly had a heart attack. He pulled his trousers up and attempted buttoning them. The door began swinging open but stopped short of full extension.

"Ms. Holloway, shouldn't a partner such as yourself be having someone do this work for you?" Pete could hear Michael's voice just outside the door. Janice pulled her dress down quickly.

"I was just thinking that." The sound of a kiss echoed in the room. "Catch you for lunch?" he said.

"Of course." Pete heard Joan's coy laughter as she entered the closet. So many things began rushing through his head; excuses, ways of escape but nothing came to mind. As Joan walked further back, their eyes met, held for a short second, and she reached above Pete for the bottle. Without saying a word, Joan left the room.

"Why didn't she say anything?" Janice squeaked.

"She keeps her feet clean." Pete mumbled.

* * *

"… And then Don just persisted enough to get into my good graces." Roger raised his glass towards the heavens.

"Sounds like an interesting history you two have got." An elderly man quipped.

"Have you got a few days? I could tell you them all." The room resounded with laughter.

"All joking aside gentlemen," Don began. "We would jump at the chance to represent your company. Retooling the old ad we had made for you; I think that's a direction worth going."

Herbert Kingsley was the owner of Viacynth Chemicals and had flown into New York for a meeting with his son. He was the average millionaire, stout and balding quite badly. His arrogant boozehound of a son Robert was no different. While in the big city, he was somehow convinced by a friend; Nelson Rockefeller, that it would be in his best interest to drop in on SCDP. He brought along a few associates from the New York branch to keep the meeting business.

"Alright, you've won me over. I'll be back in New York in three weeks for a commercial viewing; have it ready for me then." Kingsley stood and buttoned his suit. The rest of the men followed. Roger ran to the door and pulled it open as they left, smiling jovially at Don. Once they had exited the room, Roger walked behind them until they reached the oak doors. Halfway between the doors and the office, Joan walked by and caught the eye of Kingsley who allowed his eyes and mind to wander a little further than they should.

"Ain't she somethin'" He blurted to Roger at the door.

"That she is." Roger turned and smiled at Joan. "One of the partners here at the firm."

"Off limits then?" Herbert pushed.

"Why don't you ask her next time?" Roger winked. Herbert laughed and left the sprawling office. Don pushed the doors shut and looked impressed at Roger.

"Still got it." Roger mimicked the swing of a golf club. "That's why you love me."

Don simply laughed and walked with Roger down the left hall. "Are you on board with this account then?"

"I'm there 'till the bitter end." He bowed. Joan walked past them as Roger was standing from his bow.

"Well done gentleman." She tapped Don assuredly on the chin and coyly smiled. Roger piped in,

"Pretty woman," he crooned, "Don't walk on by, pretty woman," he raised his arm, "Don't make me cry," Joan simply laughed and Roger dropped his hands slowly in defeat.

"Can't win them all." He smiled at Don, who gestured for them to step into the office.

* * *

Michael Falco pressed his head through the small opening of Joan Holloway's doorway. "Are you ready?" He quipped.

"Just a minute." She reattached the gold pen into its clasp around her neck and closed the file on her desk. Her mink coat was on a holder next to the desk and within a bat of an eye, they were leaving the office.

"Are we walking?" she muttered.

"I think so. One of the last pleasant days in October before the wind takes the heat away." Mike gestured down the wide sidewalk.

During the first part of the walk, the discussion ranged from work ethic, to household appliances, from kitchenware, to the story of Henry Ford. They were walking across 34th and Madison when Joan brought up the pregnancy.

"I'm getting further along, you know," she began, "And I was wondering what your thoughts were."

"I'd rather know what you thought, first of all."

"Well… there is a doctor in Queen's, a very reputable one to which I was reffered if anything ever happened…" Michael was thinking so deeply that the conversation started to float above his head, but was brought back to reality.

"You don't want to keep it?" he winced painfully.

"I didn't think you did, whenever I brought it up, you seemed to avoid it." She confessed. Mike was horrified and burst,

"I thought you didn't! I certainly want this child." A wave of relief swept over Joan; the decision was made for her.

"There is something you should know though, Michael." She hesitated and a knot formed in Mike's stomach.

"Which is?"

"On the night Greg returned home, I did have sex with him," Mike looked as if he had just been hit by a freight train. "He continued to pretend it never happen so he could have more. I'm nearly certain you're the father… but there is a small chance… that you aren't." He could tell it was painful for her to admit as well.

"That's why I wasn't so sure about the pregnancy." She admitted. Michael felt purely defeated, for the first time in a long while. They didn't speak for three blocks. His mind was a whirlwind of convictions and rambling rabbit trails. Joan was defeated, wondering what Mike was thinking. Three blocks of silent thought and memory, for each of them.

"I'll father him no matter what." He said sternly. Joan walked quietly and in the stillness of her surprise she spoke,

"Thank you… Michael. I thought you would have changed your mind." She didn't look from the ground. "Never." The word resounded through the air like a sword through flesh. A swell filled Michael's stomach and a small smile breached his lips.

Pauli's Place, on the 98th street and Madison, was quaint. Large red seats, metal washed diner bar; it was from the 30's, but still was culturally relevant. Most of the patrons were young advertising executives or lawyers. Michael and Joan pushed through the bubbling crowd, walking to an empty booth on the far left-hand side.

"Mike!" he heard a shout, but ignored it, considering it someone else's name. "Michael! Michael Falco!" He stopped and turned behind him, noticing Ken standing in a booth. He turned to Joan, who simply smiled in assurance.

They walked over to the booth and sat down with Ken, Peggy and Stan.

"Out for lunch on the town?" Ken mused.

"The office is too stuffy. Too many people." Joan mentioned, checking her make-up with her compact. Peggy pointed in agreement and said,

"So I'm not the only one seeing all this new blood. There's this kid who keeps hanging out by Ken's office…"

"Oh here we go." Ken placed his hand below his chin in distaste.

"Haven't you see him Mike? Tall, brown hair. What's his name? Lenny?"

"He calls himself Lucky. Lucky Luciano, but he's not the gangster. Farthest thing from it."

"I think someone's taking a hankerin' to Kenny Cosgrove. In a real homosexual type of way." Stan winked.

"Oh ha-ha," Ken purged sarcastically, "I think he just hangs out by the people who actually do work."

Stan simply laughed it off.

"Okay, so there's an unspoken rule among advertisers and it's this; whenever you see a co-worker from our underground world, you always go to lunch with them. Client, or not, you just do it." Ken butted in, change tracks.

Mike raised a brow. "The Cosa-Nostra of Advertising." He thought aloud.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll just be in the ladies room." Joan stood and left the table.

"I'm grabbing coffee," Stan affirmed, "Mike?"

"I'll join you."

Within a moment, it was only Ken and Peggy at the table. There was a silence as they ate the fresh sandwiches. Peggy broke it abruptly.

"So I've been thinking," she began. "About my employment at the agency."

Ken raised a weary brow.

"And what have you surmised?" He brought the mug from his lips to the table.

"I think I deserve more from my job. I've been working here for four years and I've only got one raise as a copywriter."

"I think you're doing fairly well Peggy," he took a sip of coffee. "You could ask Don. I guess that's your best route."

"And if he doesn't budge?"

"Then I guess you strap in, or haul out." Ken looked out the window complacently.

"I've been thinking of that," Ken turned to her quickly. "Hauling out I mean."

"The advertising world is pretty tough Pegs. You may not get another job offer for a long while; a shady one at best."

"CCS is hiring right now. Shaw has already approached me several times…"

Ken shifted around and blurted, "You haven't told anyone this… have you?"

"No, why?" a worrisome glance crossed her face.

"They're doing cutbacks in the company. Even with the numbers we are pulling, it's still shady. I think Lane has been fairly generous with our "percentile recovery period" as he calls it. They fired three people these past two weeks already. You know Marjorie from accounts?"

"Like big Margie?"

"Gone. Sterling walked her out crying this morning."

"How didn't I know this?" Peggy was now horrified.

"Just don't mention to anyone that you're thinking of moving." Ken leaned back in his seat and looked out the window once again. Peggy stared into the black abyss of roasted Arabica beans.

"So I've been thinking of asking Peggy to go steady" Stan surged as they were filling the drinks with milk and sugar.

"Oh really?" Mike smiled. "You two been dating a while?"

"I guess." He moved further down the diner bar. "Four dates now. I feel like I'm really getting to know her."

"Only four dates?" Mike said.

"Well… Five if you count the encounter thanks to you at The Blue Lagoon." Mike smiled and he turned to face Stan, sipping the hot liquid.

"Then I think you should go steady."

"Yeah?" he smiled like small child. They both chatted as they walked back to the table; Joan was already sitting down when they arrived. Mike grabbed a chair at the end and turned it around, sitting facing the table.

"So you guys here Viacynth is knocking?" Stan said.

"They had a meeting today; I guess Roger and Don talked them into coming back." Joan added."

"Why do I always feel like I'm the last one to know these things?" Peggy squawked.

"This is the first I've heard of this." Michael put his cup down.

"I guess it'll be double time for the next weeks then. Hooray late nights!" Stan raised his glass to the ceiling.

"Yeah we're workin' for the man, workin' for the man," Michael sang, "Gotta make him a hand, when you're workin' for the man."

The group laughed in agreement.

* * *

"Don, I'm feeling like I deserve a raise."

Peggy Olson was sitting in front of Don Draper's desk and she had his attention; not much else was interesting him this afternoon.

"What makes you say that?"

"Kenny makes twice what I do, I'm sure. Stan makes more than me, he's been working here for a third the time I have."

"Mr. Cosgrove doesn't make much more than you." Don stood up. "Listen. This just isn't the best time to be asking for a raise."

There was a deadening silence in the room.

"If you can help us pull in Viacynth, then we can talk seriously about a raise, alright?"

Peggy felt pained, but that she did have a chance. She stood from the chair and nodded, leaving the room quickly.

As she walked down the hall she hummed, "Workin' for the man."

Peggy stayed at the office that night until 8:00. The last half hour of her shift was spent of the typewriter, pushing out her resume.

* * *

Joan Holloway walked into the apartment at 6:30 after a meeting with Lane. She pulled of her heels slowly and breathed in the cool air. Letting her hair down, she shook it out and undid the tight green belt around her midsection. There was some ruffling from the kitchen.

"I'm home." She said over the clashing pots.

"How'd it go?" Michael yelled back.

"Could have been better. Could have been worse." Joan ran her hands through her red locks and walked around the corner to a well set dining room table. A deep purple velvet cloth covered the normally bare table and there was silverware laid out neatly and food across the table.

"What is this!" she cooed.

"I believe I said I would make you a real meal if you took me to the Election Party." He wiped his hands in the doorway with a dishcloth.

"I believe you did." She smiled boldly and walked up to Mike, kissing him. "Let me get changed and I'll join you."

They ate heartily, as Michael put it. Much of the meal conversation revolved around work, but it also pivoted a few times around the pregnancy, names for their child, and housing options. The apartment wasn't large enough to accommodate for anything more than two.

"I haven't seen the Mustang this past week," Joan said while sitting on the couch watching the television. "Did you park it in the parkade at work, or something?"

Michael stopped cleaning up the dishes and drained the sink.

"Actually no," He sat down beside his woman. "I sold it."

"You sold it!" she startled.

"I did. Sold it for six thousand. Not bad considering the wear I put on it for a couple months." He laughed. "I bought a used '62 Chevy Bel-Air; Two door, the sports coupe with the big 409 engine. It was only fifteen hundred dollars."

"Why did you sell it!" she seemed angry. "I loved that car." A smile pierced her anger.

"Because I had to buy something else, and do a few things with the money."

"Oh really," she replied. "And what did you do with the money?"

"Well, I went to Tiffany's on Park," he stood from the couch. "And I was walking by their rings section," Mike drew out his sentence by slowly perching down on his knees. "And I just saw the most beautiful ring I have ever seen," Joan covered her mouth in excitement and exhilaration. He pulled out a red box from his back pocket and flipped it open. Inside was a 2.5 carat diamond ring made a solid white gold; so pure you could see a mirrored reflection in it.

"Oh my god Michael!" she stood up and he grasped her hand.

"This ring was meant for you Joannie," she began tearing. "Would you marry me?" he smiled.

"Yes." She cried. "Of course I will."


	25. Chapter 25- Commissions and Fees

**Chapter 25: Commissions and Fees**

The distant clang of a telephone woke Peggy Olson. It rang once, piercing her in her sleep, and then by the third ring, she had risen her head. Her face pained her first; she had fallen asleep on the typewriter. The resume was crumpled from her constant movement during the night, but was still readable. The phone continued to ring. She leaned back in the office chair and rubbed her face gently. Slowly, she massaged her eyes until they became heavy; the phone rang once more…

_"Mr. Draper, this is your new secretary, Peggy Olson." Joan said with a bubbling smile._

_ "Pleased to meet you." He stuck out his right hand smiling. Peggy smiled back and met it._

_ "I look forward to working for you, Mr. Draper." She quipped. Don simply smiled once again as Joan lead the way into his office. _

_ "The first day of work was long for me…" Peggy wrote. "I haven't much time for anything. I thought they would put me under some new guy; instead I get stuck with the boss. I don't really like the head secretary. She's awfully mean. Or awfully honest. Either way, she's not nice to me. In fact, I can't tell if people just like her because they like her, or if they're afraid of her."_

_February, 1962_

_ "I finally made some headway at the office today! It took a fluke effort, but I helped land Belle Jolie Lipstick! Here I am, sounding like a true ad man. Joan was a bitter critter today, ha-ha! It was nice to feel like I have something more than just fleeting looks to offer. Mr. Draper seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say for the first time in a long while. He's a nice guy actually, once you get to know him. Hard on his workers, but you can see they appreciate him. Especially Mr. Campbell. (He's brown nosing, no doubt.) _

The telephone clanged loudly throughout the office and Peggy jolted awake in her seat. The sun was just cresting over the horizon and lucidity began returning to her brain. The small desk clock showed 6:07 a.m. Peggy cursed and stood from her chair walking outside into the empty company and picked up the phone in annoyance.

"Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce." She burst angrily.

"Hello?" the feminine voice on the other end cooed.

"Yes this is Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. We're not open at the moment, but if you'll just call back in…." Peggy was cut off by the voice.

"Margaret Olson, is that you?" the voice startled her.

"… yes, who is this?"

"It's your mother!" she squawked.

"Mom! Why are you calling me so early? It's six in the morning."

"I'm well aware of the time, dear," her mother opened. "I called you five times at home; knowing your habits, the next place of rest for you would be your obsession. Now listen here, I wouldn't be calling unless it was of importance. I know perhaps you don't want to hear this… but you need to know."

Peggy sat down at the secretary's desk in slight worry. "What is it?"

"It's about your little boy… he's very sick dear." A cannonball sized knot wound itself on the inside of Peggy's stomach, searing her gently.

"Very sick?" She hesitated. "How sick?"

"The doctors say he has leukemia. Lung cancer…"

Suddenly Peggy went cold. The knot in her stomach dissipated to nothing.

"I'll call you back soon mother."

"but dear you need to do something…."

"I know!" she shouted. "I will. Just give me time." She slammed the receiver down. A sweat overcame her and Peggy felt numb in her extremities. Suddenly, she fainted.

* * *

On the other side of Manhattan, Joan was counting the spackle on the wall as she lay in bed. Michael was wrapped around her naked body and was keeping her invaluably warm. They had been up all night, celebrating the proposal. Now it was early morn after a short few hours of sleep

Second thoughts floated through her mind, but she whisked them away, like chaff in a bitter wind. She didn't want over thinking to ruin her relationship with a true gentleman. She felt at ease in his embrace. He was going to treat her right. These thoughts went through her mind as she played with the large diamond ring on her promised finger.

_"This is Joan Harris, our head secretary" Joan finally had a moment to glance up. She nodded politely and smiled in his direction._

_ "Nice to meet you Mr. Falco" She tilted the chair and examined the man before her. His cloudy blue green eyes caught hers and held them. His blond hair; perfectly side-parted, jaw was angular, but prominent, his old suit was well fashioned on him: not too short, not too long. Her heart twinged a bit._

_ "Please, it's Mike." He smiled unwaveringly and reached for her hand._

Joan smiled at the memory and turned from his grasp, kissing him lightly on the lips as she turned, and then fell back into a spoon. He stirred and placed his arm around her chest, kissing her on the neck.

"Good morning." He mumbled.

"Good morning."

"How was that?" he sniffed laughter.

"I don't remember much. Too tired." She retorted playfully. Michael scoffed and pulled away from her, lying on his back.

"Is that so?"

Joan simply turned and lay upon his chest, looking into his wandering eyes. She grinned and then asked, "Were you planning on asking last night? Or did I force your hand?"

"I was planning last night. The extravagant dinner was just the beginning of a fantastic evening, no?"

"Agreed." She kissed his chest.

"I can feel the bump." Mike smiled. Joan felt off-put and contorted her face,

"Is that a good thing?"

"Of course it is." He brushed her face with his hand. "Soon you'll be staying home."

"I'll rue the day." She sat up in bed, scratching her head. "Who will keep tabs on all the ladies when I'm gone? The agency can barely run itself as it is."

"I'm sure we'll manage." They kissed. Mike stepped from bed and pulled his briefs on.

"You're sure about this?" Joan hesitated midway through her sentence.

"About us," Michael Falco said unwaveringly, "There is nothing I've been surer of."

"Good." She grinned. "Now get dressed, we have to be at work in an hour."

* * *

"Ms. Olson… Ms. Olson." The voice murmured through the recesses of unconsciousness. "Ms. Olson… Are you alright?... Hello?"

Peggy could feel her body been shaken and she burst into consciousness. A few girls were gathered around her. She was lying on the floor.

"Ms. Olson are you alright?" Her secretary asked, helping her up. "I found you like this; my telephone was off the hook and you were white as a ghost!"

"Yes I'm fine… I just felt very faint. I stayed up all night working."

"You should have some rest in your office. It's only 7:30, Mr. Draper isn't in until 9:00."

"Perhaps I will Gisele, thank you." Peggy stood from the group and made her way into her office and lay down on the sprawling couch. The moment her head touched the arm, she drifted off to sleep.

BANG. The knock at the door resounded through the room. BANG, BANG. Gisele pushed the door open and walked over to Peggy who was still asleep at 10:00.

"Ms. Olson, I'm sorry to wake you, but Mr. Draper wants to see you in his office."

Rubbing her eyes awake and fixing her hair, Peggy made her way to Don's office.

"Good morning." He said as she entered. "Close the door behind you." Within a moment she was sitting in the adjacent chair to his desk, her hand on her forehead.

"You look like hell." Don commented.

"I feel like it too. I was here all night."

"Well then your hard work is about to pay off." He stood from his chair. "I want you to be on the Viacynth account. This is big for us, and I think the team could really use your perspective."

Peggy sat quietly not saying anything.

"This is normally the part where you thank me." He muttered.

"Thank you."

"Isn't this what you wanted?" A twinge of annoyance fluttered through Draper's normally calm voice.

"Yes… I've just got a lot on my mind," Peggy hesitated. "I'm going to be with my mother for the next while. I don't know when I'll be back."

"Well Kingsley is coming back here in three weeks to discuss our mock-ups."

"Then I guess the account will trudge on without me."

"I need you on this account Peggy. This is why I brought you in here; I'm not just handing an opportunity like this to anyone, I'm giving it to you." His hands were spaced evenly apart as he leaned over the large desk.

"I appreciate the gesture but my mother is ill, and she needs someone to take care of her. I'm going to be with her."

"Can't you just wait for this?" He splurged angrily.

"No Don, I can't!" Peggy stood up and fought back. "I don't know how much time she has left, she may make it, she may not. I've already missed a hundred important events these past years, all because of you making me stay late! I won't sit around while someone I care about dies just because Donald Draper raised his finger."

"Tough!" He shouted loudly. "You can just forget the account! I'll just ask Michael, or Pete, to haul unnecessary weight."

"It'll be good for him!" Peggy cried, "It'll be the first real day of work he has at this place without everyone kissing his ass because he can come up with ideas on the fly! What with you pulling him in on every spare account you have, Joan being so in love with him, and Lane being all tootle-pip about him. The guy got the golden carpet treatment from day one. So go ahead!" She stormed furiously at the door.

"Peggy!" Don stormed after her, but before he could follow her out the door she slammed it in his face.

* * *

"Oh Joan it's beautiful!" One of the ladies said as Joan showed off the ring. "I haven't seen a ring that size in all my life!" Another squawked. "Where did he get the money for that?" a third asked.

Joan and the secretaries had gathered in the lunchroom for the daily dose of gossip when one of the older secretaries noticed her ring.

"I'm lucky, I think." She said as the girls laughed. Far down the hall a loud slam riveted through the building, followed by another slam. Joan walked out casually to check and saw Don leaning from his doorway with a sour frown on his face. He looked at her a moment, and then closed the door once again. With her eyebrows pursed in confusion, Joan marched towards Draper's office.

"Ms. Holloway…" A voice came from her office. She stopped and turned to see Peter Campbell's face.

"What is it Mr. Campbell?" She turned from her path and moved into the quaint office space.

"Well… I just wanted to clarify some things that have been on my mind…"

Joan sat down at her desk. "And what are those things?"

"About the closet the other day…" he began.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." She said.

"… I'm glad we understand each other…" Pete smiled and sat down. "I'm sure you know that Viacynth is coming back for mock-ups."

"I'm aware, Michael informed me yesterday."

"Yes of course," he stuttered, "Well… I got wind that Mr. Herbert Kingsley has taken a considerable liking to you; he is the owner of Viacynth."

"Oh really?" Joan raised a brow.

"Yes… and I hear Roger is encouraging him to make, well, moves on you." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"What are you saying?"

"Roger is going to try and set you up on a date with him."

"Roger has tried to make me do many things to which barely any have I agreed to." She raised her left hand; the ring gleamed in the light. "I can't really do that anymore, anyway."

"Congratulations." He said surprised. "None the less… It wouldn't be the worst thing for the company if this account succeeded..."

"Are you asking me to go on a date with a man I have never once met; looking over the fact that I am married?"

"I'm just saying to give it some thought." He smiled.

"Leave, Mr. Campbell." Joan huffed.

"I beg your pardon?" he seemed confused.

"Leave my office, and go tend to someone else's personal business. Perhaps Janice? Perhaps you could coerce her into going on a date with him."

Pete stood from his chair angrily and stormed out of the office. "Some men." She said quietly. Joan sat in thought for a while, and then remembered her first direction of travel, and began making her way for Draper's office.

"Come in." he said quickly. Joan quickstepped through the entry way and walked inside.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He opened. She smiled and said,

"Well I heard doors slamming and you looked fairly miffed so I thought would come quell the flames." Draper's smiled disappeared.

"Just creative differences." He mumbled. "Nothing that can't be sorted out."

"Alright, just making sure."

"Don, so I thought I would come see you, Pete was saying…" Roger barged into the office unannounced and ran into the brief HR meeting. He turned his attention from Don to Joan.

"Joannie, sorry to interrupt,"

"You weren't, don't worry." Roger walked over to the opposite chair and took a seat, having a swig of brandy as he did so.

"Listen Joannie, this Herbert Kingsley guy has taken a real hankering for a redhead in the vicinity of this office." He spun his glass between his fingers. "And I was telling him that perhaps you would go on a date with him. If he asked you of course."

Joan raised her hand once again into the light to display the ring.

"Woah, somebody gave you a nice rock." Roger laughed. "I didn't know Paul Lynde stopped by."

"It's beautiful Joan." Don said. "Congratulations."

"Wait, you're serious?" Roger burst.

"Michael asked me to marry him. I said yes."

"He's a bum."

"He's a gentleman. I like a gentleman. I'm settling down with a gentleman."

"What about all those mink coats I bought you Joannie, doesn't that make me a true gentleman." Roger reeled. Joan smiled and replied,

"No, it just makes you rich."

"Whatever." Roger finished off the brandy. "So are you gonna do it?"

"No!" Joan replied disgusted.

"Well… fine. I can't fire you for not doing it anyway. But it's just a date! You don't have to sleep with him, just go on a simple date. He's just a lonely old fart."

Joan put her hand on her forehead. "I'm not even considering it. Unless there were other people there, not you, and certainly not Pete Campbell." She pointed to Roger at first.

"That's a Joannie!" Roger grinned. The phone rang and Don reached slowly for it as Joan and Roger batted at each other.

"Donald, its Bert Cooper. I'm outside your office. We need to have a talk, privately. It's important."

* * *

Michael Falco and Ken Cosgrove were walking briskly from the chilled October air into the main floor of their building. Lunch had treated them well, and the continuous work day was about to settle in firmly. While in the elevator, Ken burst out excitedly,

"Don't hate me for it, but I'm fairly sure you're going to be published soon."

"Sorry?"

"I'm getting your poem published!" Ken continued.

"You didn't!" Mike said horrified.

"I did! The publisher loved that one you wrote called, "The Compromise."? Their putting it in their up-and-coming poet's magazine."

"Ken! What about my job! If Roger saw that, he'd have my head!"

"Don't worry! They published it under the pseudonym of "Robert Langley." I gave them a far shot so no one could possibly guess."

"I guess I should be thanking you… I hope I don't get bit in the ass for this."

"You won't." Ken winked assuredly.

The large steel doors opened and both men made their way back into the company. Before they could enter their shared office, Don Draper was standing patiently at the door.

"Michael, could I see you in my office?" He turned immediately and walked away. Ken shrugged and entered his own office.

The slow trip to Don's office had Mike worried. Just the tone Don had used and uncomfortable mood he set made an odd air cling about.

"Yes?" Mike said as he shut the door.

"What is this?" Don passed Michael a blue check written in his name.

"It's a check, written in my name?"

"Yes, but what is it doing in the withdrawals drawer of our bank account?"

"I don't know." Michael sat down in the chair reading it over. It was signed by Don, and signed also by himself. "I never signed this check."

"Bert Cooper came to my office today, accusing me of embezzling company funds. Do you know how that makes me look to him?"

"Certainly not well… Listen I didn't write this check."

"How can I be sure of that? Your signature is on the check."

"And so is yours, did you sign it?"

"No I did not."

"Then you are as likely to have signed it as me."

Don stood from his chair slowly; he buttoned up his suit and walked over to the drinks table grabbing two glasses and filling them with sherry. Once they were filled, he handed one to Michael, let him take a sip, and sat facing him on the edge of his desk.

"I'm giving you one week to resign from your post."


End file.
